dc38
Flashlight Enthusiast
Chauncey Gardiner started a thread a WHILE back known as "Words to live by". With all this living by going on, I have decided to start this thread with the spirit of making observations or complaining about life. HOWEVER, it should done in such a way that leads people to ponder the mystery of life. This is not a thread to troll, this is not a thread to promote flaming. My personal favorites are riddles, to each his own.
In the spirit of the thread, I'll start with a rather innocuous one that I'm SURE many people can relate to.
The Money Tree
Lo, what blossoms here in this city of glass and stone,
So cold, serene, majestic, bold,but it is not alone;
for every ten, no-twelve, no-fifteen feet, there stands another one,
Its nourishment confounds me, for, It comes not from the sun.
Rooted firmly in the false earth, its bulb is one to see;
The ground from which its trunk extends is bleak and dead, to me
The trunk itself is but a tube, it has been crafted in a forge,
On the face of the tree itself is a mouth by which to gorge.
Suddenly, it's clear to me that this tree does not grow,
It flaunts time upon it's face, trees of nature have their rings to show.
This tree is evil, filled with greed and pain,
its water is not water, it drinks from a different kind of rain.
In a shower of stamped discs, this evil tree flourishes.
It holds its own amidst the sea of many trampling tourists.
Money tree, money tree, why do you torment us.
Had I known you would be here, I would have ridden the bus!
In the spirit of the thread, I'll start with a rather innocuous one that I'm SURE many people can relate to.
The Money Tree
Lo, what blossoms here in this city of glass and stone,
So cold, serene, majestic, bold,but it is not alone;
for every ten, no-twelve, no-fifteen feet, there stands another one,
Its nourishment confounds me, for, It comes not from the sun.
Rooted firmly in the false earth, its bulb is one to see;
The ground from which its trunk extends is bleak and dead, to me
The trunk itself is but a tube, it has been crafted in a forge,
On the face of the tree itself is a mouth by which to gorge.
Suddenly, it's clear to me that this tree does not grow,
It flaunts time upon it's face, trees of nature have their rings to show.
This tree is evil, filled with greed and pain,
its water is not water, it drinks from a different kind of rain.
In a shower of stamped discs, this evil tree flourishes.
It holds its own amidst the sea of many trampling tourists.
Money tree, money tree, why do you torment us.
Had I known you would be here, I would have ridden the bus!