FUTILITY
E-mail By Gary D. Jackson Bio/Address
The cell block
now that noises cease,
Dark and quiet
It holds its peace;
under the tier
a guard passes by,
and here
are night and hell and I.
Who made this world
I cannot tell;
But, it's made,
and here am I in hell.
I beat the wall
my knuckles bleed,
over and over;
I pound out my need.
Night after night
I face this wall
many years left
till it will fall
Alone, in darkness
each night I stand
I pound the wall
and only break my hands.