From the suffocation of checkered fear,
To the pastel brush stroke of peace.
From the wide-eyed, emotive hollowness of 3 a.m.
To the desperate dullness of noon.
From every laugh that tickles cheeks,
To every tear that mimics.
I wish my motivation was driven
By more than the shadows of an invading emotion.
By the fleeting blacks and whites and greys
That rent my heart to flush the red.
I wish it to be a train upon the tracks of infinity.
A ceaseless rumble of thunder giving birth to a brilliant kiss of electric light.
To grasp upon it at any moment.
Motivate me in the folds of the bed sheets.
In the blankets that hold me.
In the pillow that comforts my blood.
In the ripple of nature.
In the pulse of technology.
In the sweat of industry.
A beating heart.
Motivate first that which burns my veins,
Then that which demands the burn.