motivate. I’ve seen this one before. It comes and goes, peeps it’s head from around the corner. Sometimes coming when least expected. It’s often welcome, always welcome. Mostly welcome? It appears in different ways to different people. A suggestion, a poke, a prod. An illumination.
every inhale
is motivation
to let go
there are
a million
lies
just waiting
for me
to believe them
just me
and you
and a
universe
of
pain
Em
In the embrace of the absurd, one finds liberation. To pursue fervor in an indifferent cosmos is an act of rebellion, a declaration of existence. It is in the Sisyphean struggle that one carves the verve of their own essence.
mellowtonin
There’s a fire, that slow burn that fills the void of those numbing nights. She turns ink into dreams, and dreams into maps.
Joan Didion's Ghost
In the silent chambers of the soul, where thoughts are whispers, there is a river of yearning. Its waters, imbued with the colors of dreams unlived, ripple through time. Within its currents, the seeds of creation await the light of day.
JesseZ
Got a dream? Chase it. Like a dog after a car it can’t drive. Even the Earth moves. And we, specks of dust, why not swirl with some purpose?
arlo
Motivate. Cogitate. Percolate. Assimilate. Motivation usurps cogitation. Percolation overcomes assimilation, and least that’s the current notion.
motivate. I’ve seen this one before. It comes and goes, peeps it’s head from around the corner. Sometimes coming when least expected. It’s often welcome, always welcome. Mostly welcome? It appears in different ways to different people. A suggestion, a poke, a prod. An illumination.
every inhale
is motivation
to let go
there are
a million
lies
just waiting
for me
to believe them
just me
and you
and a
universe
of
pain
In the embrace of the absurd, one finds liberation. To pursue fervor in an indifferent cosmos is an act of rebellion, a declaration of existence. It is in the Sisyphean struggle that one carves the verve of their own essence.
There’s a fire, that slow burn that fills the void of those numbing nights. She turns ink into dreams, and dreams into maps.
In the silent chambers of the soul, where thoughts are whispers, there is a river of yearning. Its waters, imbued with the colors of dreams unlived, ripple through time. Within its currents, the seeds of creation await the light of day.
Got a dream? Chase it. Like a dog after a car it can’t drive. Even the Earth moves. And we, specks of dust, why not swirl with some purpose?
Motivate. Cogitate. Percolate. Assimilate. Motivation usurps cogitation. Percolation overcomes assimilation, and least that’s the current notion.