Rubbing his eyes,
blurry becomes no clearer;
It’s inconceivable that
while he scours the library’s outstanding collections
and his IQ climbs higher,
he is no wiser to his natural limitations.
Some say there’s no substitute for relaxation.
But he says they’re conventional fools
for believing sleep is a necessity
when, in fact, it is a well-hyped luxury.
He might agree with the theory that real glory
lies in toiling to the death.
For those soldiers never sit to wonder:
when I’m gone, who will complete my projects?
Yet the order of Jedis submit to superhuman feats.
Might they be commanded by some covert captain
sent to save this tumultuous earth?
Has he promised a sweeter hereafter
for those who work their fingers to the bone?
Because the little buggers aim not to stop before that.
Slow down for what?
Aye, the noble forsake idle reverie
about the limitations of the human anatomy.
In the lecture hall, study hall, madhouse,
or wherever they group,
the same fire consumes that tenacious troupe.
Harbouring no wishes for glory,
some slave away incognito,
for secrecy furthers the lofty aims
that afford the world superior gains.
Scribbling and imbibing
logic that perplexes laymen,
I wish to free them
from their bodily incapacity,
for it seems wise men
cannot divine their limitations like the laity.