A lay in a soft, comfortable bed.
My navy irises look at my responsibilities.
I drift upon at my goals.
My motivation is a blooming flower. That changes with time.
Blooming and budding and retreating.
The magnificent petals would always arrive though. They’d beam with such splendor and grace.
Now, the carnations, pansies, and peonies have lost their shine.
They’ve become desaturated and plain.
A pile of decaying petals below a sickly stem.
My motivation is dead.
I’ll just sit here amongst the vile plants and weeds that remain and watch as people tend to their gardens of hope.