• Brian E Pearson

Drifting

Each morning, since retiring, I begin my day reading and writing. What comes out is rarely profound, but it does paint a quick sketch of what's going on inside, sometimes just in passing, sometimes deserving a second look. Often this writing takes the form of lines that could be the start of something more ambitious--a poem or lyrics for a song. This week started with what, for me, is an old question--what to do with all the creative impulses we feel? Are they meant for the world, or are they simply what keeps us going? Here are the lines ...




I fear I'm drifting

while I'm here sitting still

I need to act

while I've got time to kill

I have this song

it's like a whippoorwill

But here I sit

until the time is filled


So why this push

if there's no oath to keep

no curtain call

no death-defying leap

And why this rush

and why this tourniquet

And why this torrent

flowing out of me


Today's the day

when I must do, or die

like every other

until the well runs dry

to dig in deep

and make no alibi

or linger long enough

until this passes by


28 views0 comments

Recent Posts

See All