The Trembling Hand
The Trembling Hand
AGE 19 - Rural New York
When solace tears along its seams,
and love will soon be gone:
a light upon the watchtower gleams;
the ~trembling hand~ writes on!
When morale is unfree to move,
and cannot build upon
the premises it failed to prove:
the ~boundless hand~ writes on!
Where inspiration meets malaise,
there is a certain known
enticement to create, which stays!
The ~furtive hand~ writes on.
When wanderlust directs thee south,
and torrid heatwaves stun
the dry throat… and the parched mouth:
the ~unburnt hand~ writes on!
When one is gutted, trying to wage
a proud and meaningless war…
in realms of vast, creative rage:
the ~stiff hand~ writes no more.
Perhaps the hand keeps writing because hope often survives long after certainty has disappeared. I especially appreciated the quiet strength of that recurring image. Thank you for this thoughtful poem.
This is a really great pace Raf
Totally loved it.