Is it a poisoned well?

How many raising the umbrella,
before the thunder comes.  
Weather men they turn and turn about,
not hear psychosis rage and needs to spout  
and sanity is overwhelmed  
easy platitudes of pros, a vain novella  
when lightening cracks, the plain hum-drum  
crust contain, lost stanzas a cappella.  
I ask you time and time again  
 the discourse come to heal the cracking grout  
to hold the pen and stab in rage  
is it just a placebo, a falsehood walk the bridge of terror  
the cold resolve of boiling blood, play that golden lyre.  
 Scraping the barrel on each page.  
Will you stand on one side of the scales  
 throwing words, across to the scoop
find the balance on poetry's high wire.  
To break the chain, the minds twisted bent entrails.  
Swift eagle in its earthward swoop,  
diving from despair, with a soul unbared,
Searching for the solace words provide
face imploding storms. soldier on and no desist
skeletons of yourself, the turmoil born inside
 tracings scribe, the essence to exist