When Bourbon Runs Dry Poem by George Van Den Driessche

The day has past
And the hour is almost gone,
The bourbon has long run dry
In this present state
The world stands still
The minutes that flew past
Have become days
And I stare deeply into my ceiling
Reaching for the bourbon
I find it missing.
Instead my fingers grasp
A feathered quill and jars of ink
What am I to write?
I know not.
Why do I write?
I know not.
But write I must at this hour
Because it calms my heart
And alleviates fears that are
Not my own.