My motivation ebbs and flows like the ocean’s tides, like these thoughts that arise like the sun each morning. My thoughts are wildfire; spreading, enveloping me with their ashy tang, and I am full of ideas; full of hope for the better future I can create. Other times, my thoughts are like drowning; they envelop me the same, but they pull me under their disguised mask; the water is forced from my lungs and I am sinking. I am clawing for air, but water is shoved deep into my pipes, slowing my gears; branches become lodged in the mechanical turnings and they stop; the very beating of my own heart stops. The thoughts, they stop, and everything I ever dreamed of seems to fall away like my oxygen-deprived carcass and the sandy, flat bottom. My motivation flows like a jaunty tune from a lyre; the music as it swaddles me in its passionate embrace; as my limbs dance and sway to their own accord. My motivation ebbs as the vinyl breaks and the melody slows, as my limbs return to their resting place, my heart slows its desperate pounding, and all is still, but my body wants more; wants the rush of adrenaline that accompanies the swaying, but I do not move, I cannot move; my body is transfixed in place, silenced as the record player stops turning, and the limbs return home like a puppet after its strings have been laid to rest. My motivation flows like the crack of a bolt of lightning in the darkened night sky, the abundance of electricity forcing itself down a web of static, fanning out into limbs of their own as the heavens bellow their own mighty tunes that shake the world with their force, with their power. My motivation flows like the ideas in my mind as the crack of lightning strikes home, and the limbs fan out farther and the ideas expand and shake the world, as these thoughts could change the world. My motivation ebbs like the moon as it wanes, as it revolves, and smaller pieces are illuminated for everyone to see; exposed, but only a sliver, still hidden beneath darkness may lay the ideas that are the darkness, made up of decay and hatred and loss of passion and understanding. Perhaps the sliver of light, only the sliver illuminated remains the ideas that are joyous and full of passion, hope, and love toward a better future, as opposed to looking into our cracked and broken pasts. My motivation ebbs and flows like the ocean’s tides, like these thoughts that arise like the sun each morning. I ebb and flow along with my thoughts and the darkness and the light of the moon. We are sacred beings, but perhaps only the ideas in our minds are worth saving, as our flesh grows old and sags like a roof after a heavy snowfall. Perhaps it isn’t the question of whether our ideas could shape the world, change it, but whether it could influence it for the majority darkness hidden to the earth by position, or the light illuminated by the sun and visible to everyone. Perhaps the darkness holds an answer, an answer to the questions everyone has been asking, but no one wants to acknowledge the replies.