Torrent
So today during our Physician and Society class, we were looking at literature written by doctors and/or about doctors. The first hour of the lecture wasn't particularly interesting to me, but we spent most of the second hour looking at poems that had been written by doctors and medical students. It was fascinating to see how people in my same position processed and dealt with the things we're all going through right now.
I kind of feel inspired to write poetry. It's not something I do a lot, but I've been known to dabble from time to time. I don't know if it's going to happen this weekend (Anatomy final on Monday- whoo), but hopefully I'll get a chance to do so soon. We'll see.
In the meantime, here's one I wrote last year in another one of these fits, but never really got around to sharing.
Torrent
Dripping, inching, slipping.
Time.
What’s another second?
Edging, bending, giving way.
Time.
Another quarter-hour, that’s all.
Passing, moving, opening up.
Time.
Why not tomorrow?
Rushing, fleeting, now a full-blown torrent.
Time.
When did I wind up on a five-year plan?
When did my life get so far ahead,
And when did I fall so far behind?
Each second, each strand of smoke whisping from the clock
Envelops me, blinds me, chokes me, leaves me
With red eyes stinging, till all I see is a far-off future.
Then, I cough, then I will live.
Then will I breathe passion and fury with every breath
and only then will all the pieces fall together right.
Then.
As the torrent blows past me, rushing to my apparent destination,
I am tempted by the pictures of the place.
Wholeness and holiness, purpose and love
The very vision of perfection.
But then I see the wound,
The one that slowly bleeds minutes,
Dripping down to a distant but unstoppable end,
And wonder if it will last until the journey is done.
Have I been given breath enough to reach the goal?
If so, how much of my lifeblood be spent before I start to live?
But there is too little time to think
And time is too much,
As the torrent seizes me, hurtling me forward.
And as it rushes ever on, I struggle to keep my head above
And wonder
If only I could drink it
Drop by drop.
I kind of feel inspired to write poetry. It's not something I do a lot, but I've been known to dabble from time to time. I don't know if it's going to happen this weekend (Anatomy final on Monday- whoo), but hopefully I'll get a chance to do so soon. We'll see.
In the meantime, here's one I wrote last year in another one of these fits, but never really got around to sharing.
Torrent
Dripping, inching, slipping.
Time.
What’s another second?
Edging, bending, giving way.
Time.
Another quarter-hour, that’s all.
Passing, moving, opening up.
Time.
Why not tomorrow?
Rushing, fleeting, now a full-blown torrent.
Time.
When did I wind up on a five-year plan?
When did my life get so far ahead,
And when did I fall so far behind?
Each second, each strand of smoke whisping from the clock
Envelops me, blinds me, chokes me, leaves me
With red eyes stinging, till all I see is a far-off future.
Then, I cough, then I will live.
Then will I breathe passion and fury with every breath
and only then will all the pieces fall together right.
Then.
As the torrent blows past me, rushing to my apparent destination,
I am tempted by the pictures of the place.
Wholeness and holiness, purpose and love
The very vision of perfection.
But then I see the wound,
The one that slowly bleeds minutes,
Dripping down to a distant but unstoppable end,
And wonder if it will last until the journey is done.
Have I been given breath enough to reach the goal?
If so, how much of my lifeblood be spent before I start to live?
But there is too little time to think
And time is too much,
As the torrent seizes me, hurtling me forward.
And as it rushes ever on, I struggle to keep my head above
And wonder
If only I could drink it
Drop by drop.