My Inklings

My Inklings

Do you hear them, hear them whispering about how I’m mad?
Mad they say? Mad?
Because I ask questions and think?
Because I sympathize with all truth seekers?
Easy, easy, you just seem weird to them
They are not use to your intensity and thoughtfulness,
You will be quick to say that they are slaves, sheep to mind controllers,
To a degree this is true,
But they are not innately ignorant,
Different minds work differently
But yes, at this pace your fate is that of Socrates,
Do you hear them, hear them raving on about the weather and reality T.V?
They prefer kids coloring books to Michelangelo
Dr. Phil to Freud or better yet Jung;
Oh God give me a circle
A circle of thinkers sharpening each other’s minds
And doing so for Your glory;
To better understand You and Your ways,
Where left and right
Do not matter as much as truth and falsehood
For I have indeed heard your voice, the voice of truth
Bless me with others that want to challenge this generation
They want to put words to paper,
And in the end praises to You.