I look at the world and think;
Do I want to turn the wheel,
Or plough and work the soil,
Or simply sit and hammer steel,
I could fight or flee or toil,
Yet all I think to do is think.
But why do I fill my mind?
Why do I blister my hand?
Where is The answer I can never find?
Then consider the folly of thinking,
We are caught in a system,
I’m trapped and I’m sinking,
That wheel is being turned,
I can hear the steel clinking.
My mind has grown roots
In the very soil that I have dug,
Security, comfort, warmth,
Daily grind is a welcome hug.
I need to break free,
To step into the torrent,
To open my eyes and see.
I know I could fall,
But I could climb so high,
I won’t be dead and buried,
Before the day I die.
So I look at my life and think,
The steel will always clink,
The wheel will always turn,
But the fire that is my life,
Will someday cease to burn.
I want to live and love and learn and lust,
I want to toil and turn and teach and trust.
All this because I think,
And so I must.
I really liked this, I love the imagery of the turning wheel