Weekly Writing Challenge: As Easy as Pie

HeartCore

by: RS Jacobs (c)

My heart is wood, your heart is fire;

You are burning up all that I am.

But sizzling like a side of ham,

I am consumed by your heart’s pyre.

My heart is paint, your heart is rain;

You make me feel I should run away.

But splattering like I am wet clay,

I find a way to bear the pain.

My heart is earth, your heart’s a tree;

Your roots dig in to the softest place.

But standing tall like a mountain face,

I hold the roots you’ve given me.

My heart is flesh, your heart’s a blade;

You tear me up into bloody bits.

But stretching out like an eagle’s wings,

I guard you as a scabbard made.

wings, bird, flying bird, falcon

Your heart is strong, but I still move;

I will fight flame and will water part.

And searching for the key to your heart,

You’ve shown me what I have to prove.

I will break, I will bend, and change my ways,

If I may have that heart one of these days.

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Take the challenge! http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2012/10/01/weekly-writing-challenge-metaphor-and-similie/

One Day at a Time

museum in Turkey, stone weapons, stone tools, museum tools–By: RS Jacobs (c) 2012

Every night I get to thinking

Of what my life has become.

I think I grew up while blinking,

And I still feel just as dumb.

Maybe he and I switched bodies,

Wishing on a magic lamp.

This college-age guy still thought he’s

Way back there in summer camp.

 

Think what you know me by.

That’s how I will stay.

See the real me through the grime.

We don’t see eye to eye,

Because your “one day”

Is my “one day at a time.”

 

Yesterday when I was a kid,

They asked me what I would be.

But twenty years, who would have bid

On that kid still being me?

I wanted to join the force,

And now I live to protect.

I’d have killed to ride a horse,

And I’m not giving up yet.

 

People think dreams are distant,

If they happen at all.

But asked to name mine, I can’t,

’cause I’m living them all.

They all think nightmares don’t end,

That they’ll last forever.

But I see around the bend.

That chain is severed.

 

Think what you know me by.

That’s how I will stay.

 

See the real me through the grime.

We don’t see eye to eye,

Because your “one day”

Is my “one day at a time.”

 

Every day I start up thinking

Of what my life can become.

I see all my problems shrinking,

Count my friends, and see the sum.

I wish you could see through my eyes

In the dread darkest of days,

See all the struggle yet realize

Cheese at the end of the maze.

 

You think you know – you think I don’t see;

You fear what is staying – you wish I could be

More than I am, more than this grime,

More than the me that I am all the time.

There’s something to say of the man I’d become,

But you’re wrong if you think I’m twiddling my thumbs,

 

Because your “one day”…

…is my “one day at a time.

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Death’s Court

–by: R S Jacobs

The ashen soil is littered with broken, discarded hilts.
The earth and stone are spattered with darkened, disheartened stains.
Blood-scarlet moonlight descends as arrows cease their falling.
No lofty goal is fought for; all herein indulging guilt.
Each of us fights our battles all alone; surviving pain.
But I am still here, resolved, to finish this damned calling.tomb, stone tomb, underground tomb, tomb of the kings, Cyprus, Paphos

I fight alone
I fight alone
No allies, no support
I stand alone
I stand alone
No backup, no cohort
This is my own
This is my own
My audience – death’s court.

When the battle began, I thought I had an army.
I stood a chance, I could prevail, with them on my side.
Evil would fall, victory won, the day would be mine.
But this force was beset with lies; they would betray me.
And those who stayed were not enough; each one turned aside
For their interests prevailed, and mine were just left behind.

I live alone
I live alone
No loving, no good night
I die alone
I die alone
No gravestone, only spite
This is my own
This is my own
My audience – death’s court.

I fight alone
No allies, no support
I stand alone
No backup, no cohort
I live alone
No loving, no good night
I die alone
No gravestone, only spite
This is my own…

My audience – death’s court.

Naru’s Last Moments — An Excerpt

Prologue

Deep blue light was cast over all the rough rocks and sand of the sweeping desert plain, by a slowly setting blue sun. In that sunset desert, sunset, Fujairah sunrise, Fujairah sunset, beach sunrise, beach sunset, blue sunrise, blue sunsetthere stood an imposing figure, one with black smoky skin, the smoky texture of which seem to swirl around a dim red light. His eyes, as the build of this creature suggested it was male, were glowing yellow with in black slits for pupils.  Ragged grey hairs jutted from its ashen scalp in every direction, frayed and twisted with age.  Hidden just underneath this bird’s nest of hair were the points of two small horns barely jutting out from the creature’s head. Despite horns and these unusual features, he stood on two feet. From the creature’s back, long wavering shadows, like tattered cloth, waved in the wind from their mooring place on its shoulders.

In his cruel red claws, the creature held a grim black bow made of bone and the branches of some long dead tree. With its other hand, the creature reached for a quiver on its hip, selected a long black shaft with crimson feathers and a nasty looking barb on the tip, and knocked the arrow. He drew it to sight the target, and let fly.

isms

man looking out window, man alone, museum, man thinkingR. S. Jacobisms:

 

Life, at times, is about losing what you value, and gaining an appreciation for the value of what you still have.

 

What you seek will come to you in time. What you run from will find you quickly.

 

I take a step forward, in faith that I will take another, and not take my next one back. Here’s to progress, and to finding joy no matter what.

Bleed

by R.S. Jacobs

Day breaks and you want to sleep.
Rise, don’t shine, the world’s too much
To handle. Too hard to keep
Starting over; keeping touch
With those few awesome people.

Red arteries bring the new blood in;
Blue veins take it back for more.
Days like this, your patience has grown thin
With the trash life has in store.
How long until the red bleed begins?

Life blood oozes slowly out
Through a thousand paper cuts.
The biting salt removes all doubt;
Citrus sting dissolves the rut.
Scars are left in skin throughout.

When the red itself will let
The flow go for time unknown,
It’s up to you – renew and get
Rid of your own bad-blood tone.
Stop the bleed, flow-change, you’re set.

Ghosts of the Past

by: RS Jacobs

See, up there in the window —window, window through trees, middle east house

Looks just like a smudge or smoke.

I tell you, it’s a girl, though.

I mean it, guys! There’s no joke.

She is up there watching me

From her old wooden confines.

I think that the past plays host

To some kind of freaky ghost!

She was born in a dark place —

Chased by a death-pale monster

With lots of teeth in its face.

She fled; he could not find her.

One friend she had; went too far.

Then when he left, she gave up.

Now his roommate’s room plays host

To her joyous, hating ghost!

She came from a broken home —

All who lived there don’t belong.

She wrote life in many tomes,

Even if she wrote it wrong.

Though he tried to help her write,

All he did was tear the page.

Now his mobile home plays host

To her quiet, screaming ghost!

She had lived a hard-knock life —

Good was bad things in disguise.

Her mind grew fast to take strife,

And her heart strong through demise.

He dared to enter this fray

To become the friend she needs.

Will his deepest soul play host

To a third surviving ghost?

I’m warning you, my dear friends:

We should all get moving fast.

Lest we should each meet our end

And become ghosts of the past!