Make Sense Of It

What am I concerned with? What makes me tick? What drives me on? What makes me complete that last pushup when my body tells me I'm done? What makes me stay up later than a lot of other people: thinking, writing, reading, praying, asking?
Fear makes me hesitate a lot of times, but I hardly cower in the corner, Not any more. Modesty, more than anything, makes me back down from certain "opportunities." I look back and I remember it was not this way before. So, the question comes again: what makes me Stan? Who makes me Stan? I know the answer to that question, truly I do and I don't doubt it for one second. My mind cannot possibly comprehend certain things, but I can honestly answer that question.
The question is what are you concerned with? What makes you tick? What drives you on? What makes you stay up longer than others, or sleep longer, or fight harder? You don't have to tell me, just ponder over it for a bit.
Are you sure you have your answer? Do you doubt it? Do you understand it? If you do, good for you. If you don't, hmm.
Deceive me, but don't deceive yourself. Nothing is more pitiful than a person who tries to deceive his own soul. There is more to this world than meets the eye, less material than the tiniest nanoparticle, yet omnipotent. Can you understand that? I can. I can't.
Urea from a drunken male strikes the snow on the grass outside my window, and it beerly rains. I can. I can't. Can you?