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About The Author

Gervic
Jose Gervic Labe, Jr.

I was born and brought up in a cold, quiet evening at Naghalin, Novalls, Tanjay, Philippines on the 5th of May. But I am more than what you can find on my birth certificate. I consider myself a dreamer, a writer, a designer, an artist, a programmer – but not to the maximum extent. I dabble on a bit of all these aforementioned. I can write, draw and sketch, do digital design, understand and do html, create landscapes, and others that I find interesting to do.

Read my entire story here>>

WDC AWARDED ITEMS

Here are the list of my awarded items:

Awarded Poetry

"The Tendrils of Life 13+: Free Verse: Portraying the miseries of people and their struggles.
"Sunset E: A piece about how beautiful the sunset is.
"Alone In The Dark E: What if you're alone. And dark.
"Sail on, Oh paperboat! E: This is how I missed my family out there.
Site Under Construction

POETRY SPOTLIGHT

Stream in the Desert

Have you ever felt being lost in a wilderness and found nobody to hold on?

It seems like trudging in a fervid trail
My sinews are exhausted, my tendons are frail.
My feet are painful- bruised and bare
No way to go; I'm trapped in this endless snare.


In this grieving land where golden grains are spread,
The sultry winds are like ruffled strands of thread,
Heaving extremely the sand from their slumbering bed.
To die amidst, is my greatest dread.


These loads that my temple is struggling to carry
Are too much that they make my shoulders weary.
I am ceaselessly beaten by the sun's scorching heat
And being burnt in this raging embers down my feet.


Down this forlorn field, I wander
To where unknown, my soul meanders
To quench my thirst, I found none
I forego to survive; my hope has gone.


Then I realized and called upon His Name
With fervent love, He heard this lame.
He come and grace this field with a stream
I drink and fill myself, and bask in His dashing gleam.

I Love You Father

There's no greater love than the love of a father.

As I traverse back down this memory lane
With this lovely picture of a man with his cane.
A hint of tiredness, a vision of dismay.
His windows dimmed beneath his tousled gray.


I remember those days when I was still a child
The efforts you did to pacify, every time I've gone wild.
With that ceaseless hide and seek, that tiresome chase
You still comforted me with your warm embrace.


Sometimes I felt that I'm not a good son
'Cause I always ignore things needed to be done.
Those white lies I kept just for you to impress
Became secrets that are now difficult to confess.


With all those burdens I added to your load
Am I worthy to be your son - your blood to be called?
Even those dearest words I'm about to utter
Became a statement that I always fail to muster.


You might have felt that I never cared for you,
My father - I love you, more than you ever do.
And if I could only bring back the days of yore
I would never give you the pains you tried to endure.


SHORT STORY

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