Michael Rabbit's Avatar

Michael Rabbit

@michaeltrabbit.bsky.social

Video game developer? Doubt it. Poet? Oooh not quite. Almost a lot of things. Infrequent poster because honestly I just get depressed often

17 Followers  |  45 Following  |  12 Posts  |  Joined: 28.10.2024  |  1.791

Latest posts by michaeltrabbit.bsky.social on Bluesky

A poem, titled "The Good Children of Shallow Lake," by Michael Rabbit: The boy was meant to be wholly good. Just like the others and their Good thoughts. Those good children of Shallow Lake, Dressed up with their smiling faces taut. The quiet ones in their blinding white, With their good manners, their good ears, Pledging to believe They were born for this. Giving all their given years. Made to offer As they were made to take, Receptive minds, surrendered to fate. Pure in body, pure of heart. No room for evil. Pure of thought. The boy would strive for good, Bowing fully to his elders, Staying silent as demanded, Biting off his tongue of cinder. But their devil spoke to him, Woeful while he played, Merry while he wept, Conscious while he slept Of the good children, Of what they had, Of what he believed. Grateful for a chance to prove That he could ward off evil too, He gave up rest and followed their means To battle the devil alone at thirteen. He knew not of why things were, Only that he’d misbehaved. It was his life to resist, And there remained good ones to save. He begged the devil to obey, He wrestled the devil night and day, He cut the devil, bathed in grace, And drowned his devil in the lake.

A poem, titled "The Good Children of Shallow Lake," by Michael Rabbit: The boy was meant to be wholly good. Just like the others and their Good thoughts. Those good children of Shallow Lake, Dressed up with their smiling faces taut. The quiet ones in their blinding white, With their good manners, their good ears, Pledging to believe They were born for this. Giving all their given years. Made to offer As they were made to take, Receptive minds, surrendered to fate. Pure in body, pure of heart. No room for evil. Pure of thought. The boy would strive for good, Bowing fully to his elders, Staying silent as demanded, Biting off his tongue of cinder. But their devil spoke to him, Woeful while he played, Merry while he wept, Conscious while he slept Of the good children, Of what they had, Of what he believed. Grateful for a chance to prove That he could ward off evil too, He gave up rest and followed their means To battle the devil alone at thirteen. He knew not of why things were, Only that he’d misbehaved. It was his life to resist, And there remained good ones to save. He begged the devil to obey, He wrestled the devil night and day, He cut the devil, bathed in grace, And drowned his devil in the lake.

Full unbroken version:

30.12.2024 19:25 — 👍 0    🔁 0    💬 0    📌 0
A young child's depiction of 3 children in button-up shirts. The left and the right children have big smiling faces, while the middle child is drawn without a face. Around the drawing, the beginning of a poem written by Michael Rabbit, titled "The Good Children of Shallow Lake," reads as follows: The boy was meant to be wholly good. Just like the others and their Good thoughts. Those good children of Shallow Lake, Dressed up with their smiling faces taut. The quiet ones in their blinding white, With their good manners, their good ears, Pledging to believe They were born for this. Giving all their given years.

A young child's depiction of 3 children in button-up shirts. The left and the right children have big smiling faces, while the middle child is drawn without a face. Around the drawing, the beginning of a poem written by Michael Rabbit, titled "The Good Children of Shallow Lake," reads as follows: The boy was meant to be wholly good. Just like the others and their Good thoughts. Those good children of Shallow Lake, Dressed up with their smiling faces taut. The quiet ones in their blinding white, With their good manners, their good ears, Pledging to believe They were born for this. Giving all their given years.

A child's depiction of an adult yelling at a faceless child. The adult has a speech bubble that displays a devil-like creature, and the child has thought bubbles that trail up to that speech bubble. Around the drawing, the third, fourth, and fifth stanzas of the poem "The Good Children of Shallow Lake" read as follows: Made to offer As they were made to take, Receptive minds, surrendered to fate. Pure in body, pure of heart. No room for evil. Pure of thought. The boy would strive for good, Bowing fully to his elders, Staying silent as demanded, Biting off his tongue of cinder. But their devil spoke to him,

A child's depiction of an adult yelling at a faceless child. The adult has a speech bubble that displays a devil-like creature, and the child has thought bubbles that trail up to that speech bubble. Around the drawing, the third, fourth, and fifth stanzas of the poem "The Good Children of Shallow Lake" read as follows: Made to offer As they were made to take, Receptive minds, surrendered to fate. Pure in body, pure of heart. No room for evil. Pure of thought. The boy would strive for good, Bowing fully to his elders, Staying silent as demanded, Biting off his tongue of cinder. But their devil spoke to him,

A child's depiction of a faceless child being attacked by a dark, devil-like creature. Around the drawing, the sixth and seventh stanzas of the poem, "The Good Children of Shallow Lake," read as follows: Woeful while he played, Merry while he wept, Conscious while he slept Of the good children, Of what they had, Of what he believed. Grateful for a chance to prove That he could ward off evil too, He gave up rest and followed their means To battle the devil alone at thirteen.

A child's depiction of a faceless child being attacked by a dark, devil-like creature. Around the drawing, the sixth and seventh stanzas of the poem, "The Good Children of Shallow Lake," read as follows: Woeful while he played, Merry while he wept, Conscious while he slept Of the good children, Of what they had, Of what he believed. Grateful for a chance to prove That he could ward off evil too, He gave up rest and followed their means To battle the devil alone at thirteen.

A child's depiction of water, like a lake or sea, with a sun above it with a crying face. In the water, a small round shape is barely visible. In the bottom right is Michael Rabbit's signature, a cursive "Michael" with two bunny ears above it. Above the drawing, the last two stanzas of "The Good Children of Shallow Lake" read as follows: He knew not of why things were, Only that he'd misbehaved. It was his life to resist, And there remained good ones to save. He begged the devil to obey, He wrestled the devil night and day, He cut the devil, bathed in grace, And drowned his devil in the lake.

A child's depiction of water, like a lake or sea, with a sun above it with a crying face. In the water, a small round shape is barely visible. In the bottom right is Michael Rabbit's signature, a cursive "Michael" with two bunny ears above it. Above the drawing, the last two stanzas of "The Good Children of Shallow Lake" read as follows: He knew not of why things were, Only that he'd misbehaved. It was his life to resist, And there remained good ones to save. He begged the devil to obey, He wrestled the devil night and day, He cut the devil, bathed in grace, And drowned his devil in the lake.

A poem I wrote titled "The Good Children of Shallow Lake." 🌊☀️

The easier to read version without breaks or illustrations is in the replies :D

30.12.2024 19:25 — 👍 0    🔁 0    💬 1    📌 0

Incredibly written!! Can't get enough of your poems :D

30.12.2024 02:57 — 👍 1    🔁 0    💬 1    📌 0
Post image

#vss365 today’s poem is a question to the core of the earth! a combination of the poem i started writing for yesterday’s prompt (but didn’t finish) & today’s prompt!
#vssdaily #glisten #mnemonic #poetry

25.12.2024 00:24 — 👍 8    🔁 2    💬 0    📌 0

Finally somebody says it!! I hate this kind of wording so much, it makes everything seem so unenjoyable and unimportant! Art isn't just something you "consume" and throw away, and it absolutely kills me every time I hear it, such a depressing outlook

22.12.2024 08:33 — 👍 2    🔁 0    💬 0    📌 0

You do this style sooo clean and sooo well, I'm excited to see more of it!! :D

20.11.2024 07:11 — 👍 1    🔁 0    💬 0    📌 0

He's actually so peak I'm becoming obsessed save me Silverfish Man 🙇‍♂️

15.11.2024 17:04 — 👍 1    🔁 0    💬 0    📌 0

He just needs to flap his arms faster, he can do it!!

13.11.2024 20:27 — 👍 1    🔁 0    💬 0    📌 0

This is a sweet collection!!

08.11.2024 15:01 — 👍 1    🔁 0    💬 1    📌 0
A notebook sketch of a bird perched on a lamppost next to a crumbled, abandoned segment of road with flowers growing in its cracks. In the distance towers tall, snow-capped mountains, and far in the sky flies a small flock of birds.

A notebook sketch of a bird perched on a lamppost next to a crumbled, abandoned segment of road with flowers growing in its cracks. In the distance towers tall, snow-capped mountains, and far in the sky flies a small flock of birds.

A crow perched on a lamppost,
leaving itself behind,
dreaming of before,
cawing once more.

A sketch I drew because I was feeling all sad and escapey. 🐦‍⬛

07.11.2024 21:49 — 👍 2    🔁 0    💬 0    📌 0

Exactly! My Steam wishlist has never been even close to as large as it's been these past few months and my wallet is clinging to my legs begging me not to do what I'm most definitely about to do

29.10.2024 01:23 — 👍 1    🔁 0    💬 0    📌 0

Oh absolutely this was my first Caves of Qud experience and also every subsequent Caves of Qud experience where I was comprehending maybe every fourth word on my screen

29.10.2024 00:25 — 👍 0    🔁 0    💬 0    📌 0
A poem over a dark blue background, with a simple sketch of a person standing on a cliff, facing the moon. The poem, "HOWL," by Michael Rabbit, reads: Through filed teeth flew vile words as tightened lips fell unfurled. A supposed sweet night’s song turned strained, sick, burning, untamed, as a whining hound, my sharpened shriek escaped, nightbound. That sound, a hideous avowal from the bowels of my mind, bellowed harshly, broke down a brittle piece of us, darkly. To me it was honest, but to you, foul, piercing through your head, my filthy howl.

A poem over a dark blue background, with a simple sketch of a person standing on a cliff, facing the moon. The poem, "HOWL," by Michael Rabbit, reads: Through filed teeth flew vile words as tightened lips fell unfurled. A supposed sweet night’s song turned strained, sick, burning, untamed, as a whining hound, my sharpened shriek escaped, nightbound. That sound, a hideous avowal from the bowels of my mind, bellowed harshly, broke down a brittle piece of us, darkly. To me it was honest, but to you, foul, piercing through your head, my filthy howl.

"HOWL," a poem I wrote almost a year ago now about how heavy words can be.

28.10.2024 20:14 — 👍 4    🔁 1    💬 0    📌 0

@michaeltrabbit is following 20 prominent accounts