Feeling is the highest art of all

How like a prison is a body lame
The mind  calls up desires and feels no shame
But bones and joints all give us  piercing pain
And  who will pay insurance or  take blame?

In my prison,I accept demands
I exercise  and write words out by hand
Encourage heart and  soon  will understand
While down the channel  runs a little sand

I read King Lear and thought the king a  fool
He did not live nor die as monarchs rule
Now I’m stuck inside a structure cruel
I'm the the nail which hides inside the jewel

The body’s more important than the soul
Feeling is the highest art of all