The Latest Poems...
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July 6, 2011
Within
Silently lurking it waits,
In the depths of darkness,
Like a hunter preparing for the moment to strike,
When it will pounce upon its prey,
And inflict upon it the full range of its power.
Where it waits is close to home,
A place ripe for its presence,
Somewhere none ever seek.
For how long it will wait is unknown,
Perhaps hours or days,
Perhaps years or decades.
Eventually though,
Before the end arrives,
It will see the light of day,
To rear its ugly head.
No human can escape its grasp,
For none are immune to the darkness.
Just as once must breathe to have life,
So too one must experience its pull.
All that can be done is to choose,
Whether one will embrace it forever,
Or condemn it to death.
In the depths of darkness,
Like a hunter preparing for the moment to strike,
When it will pounce upon its prey,
And inflict upon it the full range of its power.
Where it waits is close to home,
A place ripe for its presence,
Somewhere none ever seek.
For how long it will wait is unknown,
Perhaps hours or days,
Perhaps years or decades.
Eventually though,
Before the end arrives,
It will see the light of day,
To rear its ugly head.
No human can escape its grasp,
For none are immune to the darkness.
Just as once must breathe to have life,
So too one must experience its pull.
All that can be done is to choose,
Whether one will embrace it forever,
Or condemn it to death.
© Jacob Blacquiere, 2011
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June 5, 2011
Cry Out
The crowds march in the streets,
Without order but still united,
Calling for true change,
Calling for true freedom.
Not just change to the surface,
But fundamental to the system.
Not just freedom with restrictions,
But honest to their humanity.
The drones of the masters stand in their path,
With formations of perfect order.
They swear to the people,
But instead protect those who sit above,
Whose atrocities foul the air,
And who answer to no one.
The crowds press on,
With nothing that can be lost.
The drones clank their shields,
And hide within their uniforms,
To shelter their guilt.
Explosions ring out,
Smoke billows from the darkness,
As the arm of rule is extended,
To scatter the crowds,
To squash the dissent.
But dissent will never die,
So long as injustice remains,
So long as freedom is contained,
And a purpose is present.
It is the rally of those who are oppressed,
And their duty to fulfill.
Without order but still united,
Calling for true change,
Calling for true freedom.
Not just change to the surface,
But fundamental to the system.
Not just freedom with restrictions,
But honest to their humanity.
The drones of the masters stand in their path,
With formations of perfect order.
They swear to the people,
But instead protect those who sit above,
Whose atrocities foul the air,
And who answer to no one.
The crowds press on,
With nothing that can be lost.
The drones clank their shields,
And hide within their uniforms,
To shelter their guilt.
Explosions ring out,
Smoke billows from the darkness,
As the arm of rule is extended,
To scatter the crowds,
To squash the dissent.
But dissent will never die,
So long as injustice remains,
So long as freedom is contained,
And a purpose is present.
It is the rally of those who are oppressed,
And their duty to fulfill.
© Jacob Blacquiere, 2011
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June 3, 2011
Lost
The days come and go,
Relentless.
While life keeps its pace,
Like the ebbed flow of a river,
Sometimes swelling to the brink,
Others trickling nearly dry.
I see the people of the world,
For whom fear clenches their breath,
And uncertainty blocks their path.
Their numbers are vast as fish in the ocean,
Of whom many know not love,
Not co-operation,
Not peace,
Not rest,
Not understanding or concern.
All that they know is competition,
Which eats at the very core of man.
All that they know is suspicion,
Which blinds them from what actually is.
All that they know is themselves,
Which takes the light from others.
Man or machine,
The gap is hardly certain;
For the people live their lives programmed,
Barely even aware of their own being,
Not knowing all that they truly are,
And like a machine,
Not knowing that which is love.
Yet amid all of the masses,
All of the vast numbers,
There are a multiplying few who have indeed,
Unplugged themselves from the cruel circuit,
To reacquaint with their beginnings,
So that love becomes their life.
These are the people who must not fall silent,
For if they do,
The circuit will continue to pulse.
If they open up and let world know that which they are,
Then perhaps the machine will crash,
And the heart will start to beat again.
Relentless.
While life keeps its pace,
Like the ebbed flow of a river,
Sometimes swelling to the brink,
Others trickling nearly dry.
I see the people of the world,
For whom fear clenches their breath,
And uncertainty blocks their path.
Their numbers are vast as fish in the ocean,
Of whom many know not love,
Not co-operation,
Not peace,
Not rest,
Not understanding or concern.
All that they know is competition,
Which eats at the very core of man.
All that they know is suspicion,
Which blinds them from what actually is.
All that they know is themselves,
Which takes the light from others.
Man or machine,
The gap is hardly certain;
For the people live their lives programmed,
Barely even aware of their own being,
Not knowing all that they truly are,
And like a machine,
Not knowing that which is love.
Yet amid all of the masses,
All of the vast numbers,
There are a multiplying few who have indeed,
Unplugged themselves from the cruel circuit,
To reacquaint with their beginnings,
So that love becomes their life.
These are the people who must not fall silent,
For if they do,
The circuit will continue to pulse.
If they open up and let world know that which they are,
Then perhaps the machine will crash,
And the heart will start to beat again.
© Jacob Blacquiere, 2011
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May 30, 2011
Divide and Conquer
We are kept at each others throats,
By elite powers,
That use the tactics of ancient rulers,
To stay atop their faulty thrones,
And reap the rewards,
Resulting from our own childish nature.
To unite as one,
That is their fear.
That we will realize all that we are,
And all that we can be,
If only we discarded all opposites,
And rose as individuals united,
With our chains broken,
Ready to take back,
All that has been ripped from us,
All that has been forgotten.
Only then can a man cry freedom in the streets,
Only then can a child rest their head at night,
As the ever constant charade of rule,
Is discarded by those who are ruled,
And every person becomes their own.
By elite powers,
That use the tactics of ancient rulers,
To stay atop their faulty thrones,
And reap the rewards,
Resulting from our own childish nature.
To unite as one,
That is their fear.
That we will realize all that we are,
And all that we can be,
If only we discarded all opposites,
And rose as individuals united,
With our chains broken,
Ready to take back,
All that has been ripped from us,
All that has been forgotten.
Only then can a man cry freedom in the streets,
Only then can a child rest their head at night,
As the ever constant charade of rule,
Is discarded by those who are ruled,
And every person becomes their own.
© Jacob Blacquiere, 2011
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May 29, 2011
War of the Few
Distant nations are shelled,
In the name of peace,
In the name of freedom,
By those that know neither,
But who feel supreme.
Arms are their craft,
Force their art.
They claim an honest heart,
But only kill and pillage,
The peoples and lands,
Which are used as pillars of deception,
To fool the masses.
These men of few,
So high and mighty,
Send the lower to death,
To fuel the flame,
Which keeps the fire burning,
And piles the capital.
So long as these men reign,
Strife will follow,
Ruin will remain,
And serenity will never be.
In the name of peace,
In the name of freedom,
By those that know neither,
But who feel supreme.
Arms are their craft,
Force their art.
They claim an honest heart,
But only kill and pillage,
The peoples and lands,
Which are used as pillars of deception,
To fool the masses.
These men of few,
So high and mighty,
Send the lower to death,
To fuel the flame,
Which keeps the fire burning,
And piles the capital.
So long as these men reign,
Strife will follow,
Ruin will remain,
And serenity will never be.
© Jacob Blacquiere, 2011
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May 26, 2011
Sleeping Sheeple
Like sheep they wander,
Through the towns and cities,
Never straying from course,
Following the established rule.
They seek material of value,
But only empty their lives,
And fill the pockets of the few,
Who only seek control and power,
Which comes at a burden to others.
Distant cries erupt,
Pain and suffering in their tone,
But they are never heard,
For the sheep remain content,
With lives of ignorant bliss,
Happy to follow and obey,
Never questioning,
Always accepting:
That which is spouted from lit glass
The only truth they ever have known.
The notes they collect,
The items of their abode,
And the theater of reality,
These are what concern them,
Not that oppression rules them,
Or that they sleep from the light,
Only that they are full and amused.
Through the towns and cities,
Never straying from course,
Following the established rule.
They seek material of value,
But only empty their lives,
And fill the pockets of the few,
Who only seek control and power,
Which comes at a burden to others.
Distant cries erupt,
Pain and suffering in their tone,
But they are never heard,
For the sheep remain content,
With lives of ignorant bliss,
Happy to follow and obey,
Never questioning,
Always accepting:
That which is spouted from lit glass
The only truth they ever have known.
The notes they collect,
The items of their abode,
And the theater of reality,
These are what concern them,
Not that oppression rules them,
Or that they sleep from the light,
Only that they are full and amused.
© Jacob Blacquiere, 2011
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