#jacobs writing

[chobit92]

Wait...Is that...Jacobs writing? Damn even his pen is red...His writing is so cute...It’s like a little kids...

[servantofmydreams]

A Story Called Life

Through the drowning roar of the waterfall they call life I found peace, For though it starts with storm a-heaving, it ends with life increased. The pounding beat of droplets keep my mind under the water, so though inward being outward cries I'm set on finding Father. Through thund'rous noise my course is steered to search of richest rest, but on the path are pyrite jewels that burden barque and quest. Distractions of every metal, delay and tie me down as I scavenge every crevice and deep vein within the ground. With every step and traveller met I am weighting my own way, and though I flirt with brief delights they cultivate my sways. And so shackled by the glees of earth i am bound until I falter, and on the world's stones I stored I am set into a halter. But the initial gem of which I sought has powers o'er my own, for though I lost my written cause he still yearned to be made known. So unlike flies to wanton boys he protects me by his will, and though my way was fraught with haze, his grace perceived me still. At start in youth with false pursuits I trecked though deaf and blind, and though I failed in my task he vexingly b'came mine. When questioned why the jewel was mine despite a past of broken deeds, the reply was voiced in loving care and confessed a planted seed. A bruisèd seed was sent to us that through faith there is salvation, while the chthonic one by curses done will rue his contemplations. So with future set on full reward the suff'rings 'come sweet, and my fetters snapped like broken chaff are strewn about his feet.

[servantofmydreams]

Vision

Picture a scene of lacking green; instead of trees, lay concrete beams. A landscape marred with jutting bars and sky replaced by crimson stars. And in a field no longer there, the mountains gaze with haughty stares, for they themselves are now of men and suffer every consequence. Silver institutions have replaced the mighty alps and ‘stead there lie for passer-by’s a place known as The Help. Here we find th’ ivory towers strung together with tight rope wires where the mis-led jump in final hours while pondering 'pon their poisoned flowers. Youth might be wasted on the young for ’t'is now they who cry they’re done, But old men too they have their loss as they whisper war and curse their cross, And all around in silver streams float punctured poems of broken dreams.

[servantofmydreams]

The Devil's Instruments

The whispered rantings of my muse reeked of insanity. An insanity which sprouted coils of madness, unfurling and curling, surrounding the pockets of my more simplistic mind-at-ease. Oh my vanity... For it was an insipid insanity That crept towards me with a reaching grasp that screamed of lethargy and yet I-the-fool walked Right towards it, into the arms of that silver-stringed tapestry. Rising to swallow my mind in calamity my rantings reared with temporal tempestry and my soul was delivered from the web gleaming silvery. For vanity, vanity, it is man's own fantasy. It sees what you want to see and poison is violent and death comes with poverty but blindness is found of my very own vanity. O! Thank that I live in a madness as like me and people all share in my sweet twisted symphony.

[servantofmydreams]

An Address to the Three Graces

The first one fair, with lovely hair, Who spends her day a-weaving, Sing your ditties no melancholy And get be gone the grieving. The second one with flaxen bun And freckle-spotted face, Life is short but love's still sweet So worries lose with haste. The third, the one, who hides her fun and tears she finds a-falling Let her come with worries none and seize the day that's calling.

[servantofmydreams]

For Fear of Idling

Whispering woods Sussurating peace Envelop my conscious And pain does decrease While shadows of terror My nightmares unleash I'm caught in a victory But taste solely defeat. Yet feats of defeat Are self-vivifying So I catch myself carving The screams of the dying And staying mine actions I quickly repeal The wounds I inflicted And those we did deal, For causation was simply Not single by fact But rather was dealt by Myself and my mask.

[servantofmydreams]

Self-Portrait

I suffer from self diagnosed paranoia, I should know, I’m a self-declared psychologist set on solving self-identified partially true (probably false) problems involving over-self-analysis. Let’s call it therapeutic cause it’s slightly preferred over self-induced senility. To combat my own sentimentality I create self-enforced sentryship of which I can’t control but am still burdened by it. And to reinforce this very thing I am constrained by waves of self-guilt to endlessly keep me at sea. I am the isolated sailor drifting southernly on Sundays while wishing soberly that someday I will find my peace in He. And finding refuge there despite my moonlight mysteries I will worship at your door and take ahold your golden key.

[servantofmydreams]

Sweet Apathy

The rock has feelings The forests dance The meadows whisper And the mountains chant The flowers sing Like butterfly wings As the birds take to the air, And the poets play among the fée And forget their sense of care.