Futile ?

hank-van-well-jr Poems

Futile ? The hand , it trembles As it lay out another timescape atop the outstretched parchment What is the reality ? Is this just another argument within oneself ? Another map ? A destination in the waiting ? Or a trail left for another to follow The black ink, it drips from the quill like blood Puddling into a mirage Images of insanity ? , a conversation with oneself ? Or recollections Is this a craft ? , or a crutch ? A consuming addiction A way to torture an already broken heart Or a soothing elixir , for which it is to be dipped Fingertips growing numb Is it the lack of blood flow Concluding another segment of a repetitive tide Or a commencement to an eye opening ode A recipients revelation , and an excepted invitation to Eden The waning inspiration behind the trembling hands, and the ebbing of the ink within the quill brings forever to the forefront , the question that has been looming over these runes , if they are in fact , and have always been Futile ......