Push.

A wanderlust of identity,
Exploring the heights, the depths,
Walking plains and climbing and falling,
And failing,
Successes like bright white blinding light,
Filling every peripheral space,

The rich reality of fault vaporized like dew.

Push.

Salt slips from these lenses,
The womb's embrace a reprieve irresistible,
Punishment and consequence under cordial invitation,
Arrive in every corner of a mind relenting,

Bathing in the luxury of a lack there of,

Push,

Promise spoiled like the appetite of a child,
Filled with sugar and fat,
A comedy of medium wants uttered in duress,
Fettered by former, and far more formal, drives and visions,

Push.

This day is not over,
And life is not over,
And death is not over,
And breath carries songs of romance and courage,

When the allowance of frailty inhibits progression,
Where stillness is prodded by critical enmity,
Of all that lies sullen and sorrowful.

Push.

Confide in the righteousness of the body, the mind.