I need to pretend that I'm dying, and I don't have much time left to live, 'cause if I don't do what I came here for, I may miss this one chance that I have.
I've seen my friends go in a heartbeat, their life's purpose still left undone. Dear God, I don't want that to happen to me! Help me to sing my own song.
Sometimes I can act like it's nothing, pretending I never will die. I want to believe that I'll live here forever-- Why do I insist on this lie?
I know that I've got to keep writing-- it's the gift that my heart longs to give, and if I have spent my life writing I won't care so much how long I'll live.
The way that I want to be feeling when Death comes to take me away is satisfied that I've finished my work, that I've said all that I have to say.
I keep getting sidetracked by something-- when I look at it square in the eye I see it's fear that I'm not good enough to make a great poem of life.
You know that I want to write deeply from the spirit of love here inside. How can I sing when I bury my own spirit behind fear and pride?
I know that great love and great writing can flow from You through my heart-- I open it wide, please help me right now To focus my life and my art.
Written 1998. Copyright 2011, by Michael S. Simpson. All rights reserved.