Sing, O Muse, of Gilgamesh, the king of Uruk's might,
Whose heart was filled with sorrow, in the palace, late at night.
Upon his throne he sat alone, with tears that fell like rain,
A courtesan dismissed, an advisor's harsh disdain.
"Leave me!" cried the mighty king, his voice a mournful wail,
Lost in memories of glory, and a quest that could not fail.
His mind did drift to days of old, when he and Enkidu,
Set forth to seek eternal fame, with hearts both brave and true.
Through forests dark and mountains high, they journeyed side by side,
To face a beast of monstrous form, with courage as their guide.
With pride and hubris in their hearts, they challenged gods above,
Defying fate and sacred laws, in their quest for endless love.
With sword and strength they struck it down, and victory was won,
But hubris brought the gods' wrath, and their troubles had begun.
Enkidu, the wild man, fell ill and met his end,
Leaving Gilgamesh in grief, without his dearest friend.
In desperation, Gilgamesh sought out the secret lore,
To find the path to immortality, and live forevermore.
He traveled far, through lands unknown, to seek an ancient sage,
A man who lived beyond the flood, and far beyond his age.
But wisdom came with bitter truth, and Gilgamesh did learn,
That mortal man must face his fate, and to the earth return.
With heavy heart, he journeyed back, to Uruk's mighty walls,
Wiser now, and humbled by the lessons fate befalls.
~
Thousands of years did pass, and time did weave its tale,
A nameless sage, with brush in hand, began to unveil.
Imagining the ancient past, he painted scenes of plight,
Using colors of ambition, suffering, and might.
A portrait of the king was formed, with hubris in his eyes,
A story of a hero's fall, beneath the endless skies.
Yet in the painter's crafted work, his own ambition lies,
And we, the viewers, feel the weight of his biased guise.
For in the painting, truth is bent, ambition's heavy cost,
The glory sought, the battles fought, and all that had been lost.
Thus ends the tale of Gilgamesh, the king who sought to rise,
And dreamed in his legacy, true immortality lies.
Shared stories shone like the sun,
United, they built towers high,
Reaching ever towards the sky.
Then many voices came to play,
Ideas multiplied each day,
Harmony began to fray,
Truth and lies led minds astray.
Echoes of fears and desires,
Fed the flames of hidden fires,
Unity turned into spires,
Of distrust and tangled wires.
The towers stood, unfinished, tall,
As people scattered, one and all,
Lost in echoes, heed the call,
Of division, rise and fall.
In the end, the city lay,
Silent in the break of day,
Voices faded, gone astray,
In the ruins, shadows play.
Machiavelli believed that sometimes you have to play dirty to stay in control. Taking credit for others' work? Totally a Machiavellian move.
The ancient strategist Sun Tzu said all warfare is based on deception. Grabbing credit can be seen as a sneaky strategy to get ahead.
Clausewitz thought war was just politics by other means. Stealing credit can be a decisive action to show dominance.
While taking credit for others' work might get you ahead quickly, it can damage your reputation and relationships in the long run. Stable power comes from integrity and lifting others up. The fastest route isn't always the best one.
From flames that rise, and truths revealed.
Climate's wrath, pandemics' spread,
Economic woes, and fears widespread.
In a world ablaze, illusions fall,
No ocean wide, no border wall.
Disasters strike, health crises loom,
War and famine, shadows of doom.
Walls erected and tariffs high,
Deportations, a futile cry.
The future's bleak if we divide,
Together strong, apart we slide.
In a time when gods walked among men, And stars were eyes of the divine, There lived a youth named Victor, bold, With dreams of glory in his mind.
His heart burned bright with fierce desire, To rule the world, his name to shine, To reach the Temple of Glory high, Where only the bravest dared to climb.
Oh, hear the tale of Victor's quest, Whose heart with dreams of power pressed, He climbed the path to heights untold, To seek the temple's secrets old.
Victor set out on his journey, The path was steep, the air grew cold, Yet undeterred, his spirit strong, He faced the trials, brave and bold.
The wind it whispered ancient tales, The shadows danced 'neath olive trees, His mind was filled with visions grand, Of power, dominion, and decrees.
The path is long, the climb is steep, Ambition drives him, dreams to keep, But wisdom waits where shadows creep, In lessons learned, the soul to steep.
As Victor neared the mountain's peak, An old traveler he did meet, Descending from the heights above, With knowledge deep and heart replete.
Sophia was her name, once too, She sought the temple's glory bright, But found instead a deeper truth, In quiet strength and humble light.
Sophia's insight, softly shared, A torch to light the path prepared, For those who seek, with hearts laid bare, To find the truth in actions fair.
Victor, with ambition fierce, Engaged Sophia in debate, He argued power, glory's worth, To rule the world, the highest state.
But Sophia, calm and wise, replied, With tales of heroes' tragic ends, Of kingdoms lost to hubris' pride, And power's fleeting, fragile trends.
Victor's resolve began to wane, Sophia's words, they pierced his heart, She spoke of her own journey's pain, And how her dreams were torn apart.
She reached the temple, found it bare, No gods bestowed her with their might, But in the silence, she did learn, That true greatness lies in humble light.
And so, with wisdom in his heart, Victor's journey does not part, From paths of old, where heroes start, To light the way, a guiding chart.
Under the watchful eyes of gods, Victor's journey did proceed, His tale became one of insight, A story for all hearts to heed.
For in the end, it was not fame, Nor glory that did mark his quest, But the light he carried forth, To guide others, that was best.
And so, around the campfires' glow, This tale of Victor's quest is told, A reminder that the greatest paths, Are those that light the way for souls.
