Written by Jacob Ibrag There used to be a world that lived in my mind which I used to visit when I’d close my eyes. As the months gave birth to years, it became increasingly harder to remember how to get there. Upon the final day of my arrival, all that was left were tired trees […]
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Life is not everything, a shadow of me, exists out there somewhere in the sea. Breath is not everything, a slight tense, is making the waking dream come sense. Light is not everything, the new dark comes, for the lonely soul who think he has won. Dark is not everything, light burns the night away […]
Originally posted on Richard Rensberry, The Grumpy Poet: Some Days Some days are empty some days are full Some days are timid, some days are bold. Some days are broken some days unfold Some days are some days with no where to go. Some days are precious, some days grow old. Some days are happy,…
As I sit alone in the darkness, I hear the faint noise of water It drips and runs around me, calming me with its soothing sound This quick poem was inspired by Elena from Clash of Tides. When she was stuck in the cave alone, she was scared, but the sounds of water calmed her […]
Recently I took a delightful walk into the wild.
It was such a beautiful day and the hidden sun illuminated smoky clouds in the pale light blue sky. All the thick green high trees were in a humid shade. Not far into the rich moist vegetation I came across the biggest mushroom I have ever seen right in the center of the foot path i was walking on. It looked harmless enough and edible too, a promising prospect. But because I know second to nothing about mushrooms, I had no way of telling if it was indeed the poisonous kind. It had me thinking, I could be talking about people; couldn’t I?
The old borrow a lesson more old,
Taken from the depths of age itself.
Passed down with memories long told,
In spoken words or read off a shelf.
Plants are green or of the green,
Their roots bring in the nutrients.
Edible or not, monstrous or serene;
Fauna’s use of the greenery is strength.
Proud with blossoms loud in colour,
Conquering as weeds warring away;
Mighty giant canopies in sorrow,
Serving clean air as lively wood they lay.
It is the nature of all men to be;
Seek, achieve and demand credit.
In every act, subtle as it so be;
To identify glory and apportion merit.
Then the mushroom sprouts out,
Wet dew with and like its dawn;
For that short while it’s all about,
Like a lowly placed but lethal pawn.
If humility is an attitude of the mind;
Humbly conditioned and selfless,
Then humiliation it doesn’t ever find;
Nor wallow away in any such sadness.
Sneaking simple acts of goodness,
The mushroom delights in subtle ways.
Beneath the canopies’ high mightiness,
Or humble in the low lawns it strays.
As yet its acts could be as noxious;
Quiet as they harmlessly look or seem,
A mushroom can harm and kill the conscious,
Like the humble act could be very mean.
But in a wanton quest for the simple
Mushrooms that true nature man persist;
Just as a ramification of egoism in people;
Humility is the worst form of conceit.