Sunken eyes
Slight fatigue, though my brain is alert
I’ve deadlines to meet, but I can’t really find the words
Writer’s block—a minor deterrent of a sort
More than minor, it’s a huge inconvenience
Considering I consider this my work
As luck would have it
An idea
Formed from this mind once inert
Right before I quit in favor of a trivial task to subvert
My attention
A question crept up from the soul
A question I shall pose to you, the reader,
A question you probably already ready know:
Why?
More precisely, it should be phrased as, The Why
It’s the purpose behind the passion
The fuel to the fire
There’s no true movement without a motive
The modus operandi for the fight
Justification for the journey
The whole point of the plight
What’s the why?
Why do you do the things you do?
Not the material gifts that come from
The machinations and the moves
It’s not The What I’m concerned with, at the moment;
More so—the For Whom, and The Why
If you can’t identify your motivation
It’s exceedingly easy to give up before you try.
