They flow so suddenly.
Words swirling into my mind,
Thought after thought forming into one.
Inspiration can come by mere moments,
Soaring from everywhere and anywhere.
The idea will seem so grand,
The best idea I've had yet.
Suddenly, a few minutes go by...
And I lose the will.
The motivation to create, the motivation to let the ideas escape.
Does this make me a bad writer?
Is it bad to be burned out,
To have no will to type the words in my head?
Motivation seems so hard to come by,
And eventually, all motivation becomes artificial.
It becomes a game of chance,
A roll of a die.
But what happens when the die doesn't even roll?
When days turn to weeks,
And weeks to months?
Letting ideas drift away,
Floating forever, waiting for some sort of "will" to take over.
When will the choice be clear?
I've realized that motivation is hardly a force for longevity,
Hardly a force of continuity.
It is merely the first lap of the race,
After running past an inspiring starting line.
As true motivation leaves,
The rest of the race must be run with a third contender:
An unseen and unmentioned hero,
A finisher of stories and poetry.
The pure want to write,
Despite bleeding hands and a bleeding mind,
That is determination.
So, it's okay to let motivation leave you.
It's okay to take breaks during the race of creation.
As long as you let that inspiration turn into motivation,
If it's the right race,
That determination will find you.