Drabble "Obsession"

For those of you who don't know what a drabble is, it is a sort of writing game where a prompt is given, and the participants are given five to ten minutes to write a one-hundred word piece based on that prompt. Since it's very difficult to make it exactly one-hundred words, I sometimes go a little over or am a little under. But here is one of mine.

Obsession-

"I couldn't help myself. The gears, the springs, the metal. Every little detail had to fit into place so perfectly to make it work. Not a single part could be spared or left out. It had to be perfect, it must be. The gentle tick of previous projects surrounded me, all of them perfectly in sync with one-another. How could anyone ignore their beauty? It didn't seem right. So often ignored, but they were a feat of technology to be revered. I placed the last gear into the piece and closed it, unable to stop myself from staring into the crystal face and admiring my work. These were my obsession."

Poem "Was Broken; Is Beautiful"

I figured it'd be good to go in order, so here is my second poem. This one is more of a free verse.

A man brought a bronze shield through the door,

It's polished face dirtied and beaten,

The pieces bound by leather chain,

Just barley holding it's shattered frame.

The man brought it to the blacksmith and said "Here. Take it. It is useless to me now."

The blacksmith took the shield in his hands, carefully rubbing the grime away. "I can repair this." he replied.

The man just laughed, turning away. "It does not matter. It is used, it is broken. It is useless." and walked back through the door.

The blacksmith carried the battered shield back to his forge,

Taking up his tools of work.

"I will make this into something better."

And with that, he set to work.

He cut the chain,

The shield falling apart where it lay,

He took the pieces and put them in a stone bowl, placing them gently into the cradle of his forge.

He pushed the billows,

He fed the flames,

The fire burning bright and strong.

He removed the bowl from the flame,

Pouring the molten metal into small molds about his forge.

He worked quickly,

Every move precise,

Every blow firm,

Every piece perfect,

Every touch gentle.

The blacksmith worked through the night,

His hands working with masterful skill.

The molds now held small flower petals,

Each made of the broken shields bronze.

More metal was added,

Some of the smith's own work,

To add more petals to his final craft.

Each petal was placed on a golden plate,

Carefully secured with molten steel.

Every piece was placed perfectly,

Handled with incredible care.

The sun began to rise,

The night fading away,

But the smith did not notice;

He gazed upon his work, a smile on his face.

Before him lay a shield,

But not as it had been when it came,

The base was gold, with an oak support and strong leather strap,

Covered in a pattern of circling flower petals,

Each made with such care as to look real.

The outside layer altered between silver and bronze,

The second layer blue and green,

The third layer red and gold.

At the center and diamond shone,

Casting off a rainbow of light.

"This is my creation. It is not but a tool, but my most prized possession." the smith said, proud of his work.

He took up the final piece, placing it on his arm.

"This will be your place, with me. I will walk with you, and guide your action." the smith said,

And with that he set out to show his work to the world.

(c) Jacob Johnson

Poem "Glory's Land"

Well, I'll start this off by posting the first ever poem I wrote. 

The soldiers marched through day and night,
Through rivers of pain and fields of blight;
The Shadow's fingers stretched over the land,
To try and steal it from Glory's hand,
But on they marched,
Through the dark,
Through the Shadow's new claimed land.
Their drums beat, their banners flew.
A golden light shone as each foot fell,
blazing into the blackened sky. 
The horses hooves shook the mountain peaks,
the soldiers boots shook the the lower realms.
The spears gleamed,
The shields clanged,
The drums beat,
The trumpets sang.
The air shimmered with the force of their faith,
The land shuddered with their songs of praise.
They were to take back Glory's land,
Take it back from Shadow's hand.
When the battle came no sword was lifted, no grass was stained,
But they stamped their feet,
They pounded their shields and shook their spears,
They beat their drums and hymns they sang,
The trumpets blew, the banners blazed,
The soldiers cried their songs of praise.
The Shadow's army fell to their knees,
One by one, as if to freeze,
The darkness gone, replaced by light.
The land was again in Glory's hands,
and the sky was filled with golden rays.
The people cheered their saviors name,
Over come with joy and songs of praise.
The land was free,
The Shadow gone,
And the grass yet remained unstained.

(c) Jacob Johnson