feeble and breathless. . .

I am conflicted, plagued by an inner war of possibility and ambivalence. I struggle frantically beneath the weight of lies and apathy; they sit heavy on my shoulders, grounding the cause that silently cries out from the core of my personhood. I burn. I plan. I toil. I waste away, fear-bound and distracted. I ache to experience solidity of focus and determination, yet I’m prone to wander toward the enticement of pleasure, turning my gaze from the road of struggle which leads to the fulfillment of the passions that grip me. Stagnant, motionless waters of potential pool within as minutes, hours, days . . . months and years pass me by. When will I break free of all that binds and stifles the essence of my call? When will I fiercely arise in fortitude of purpose, fix my gaze and relentlessly pursue all that is required?