All I have is time to think
And I used to feel bad for that.
But blessed are the thinkers, the thoughtful.
We do it for those who don’t have time
To ponder the sublime
Those who toil in mortal coil.
Who plough the heavy soil.
Oh but I am not made of heaven yet
My coil is weak so my soul must be light
I fight in theories and rings surrounded by ropes of a million philosophies.
I see the patterns in a web you weave
Because I can leave. I can pause for thought.
So blessed are the workers ,the feeders the bleeders the strong
Those who think they can do no wrong
Those who move without thinking
Because stopping is sinking.
But the heavens are lit by weaker creatures like me
Whose bodies are not cut of diamonds but whose minds are made to shine
My pushups are of a different muscles
A strength built up for a different core
My legs might be heavy
But my mind doth soar.