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James Jarrett Apr 2014
Her hair has been shorn
Her face cut and bruised
Her flowing gown torn
The beauty once in her eyes
Faded
Drone strikes
Warrant less searches
Roadblocks and pat downs
Eaves dropping
Secret eyes and ears
Always listening
Always watching
Be careful what you do
Or they may come after you
Swat teams and armored cars
Men clad in black
Weapons at the ready
Waiting to attack
They have her now
Imprisoned
Cold shackles hold her hands
Her breath is low and shallow
Seems that death
Is now at hand
This is the land of the free?
Grim Apr 2014
Art
I think
Is the best thing for a soul
Medicine for the mind
A product of pure genius
Art is expression of the soul
It can take on any form
Art gives us the liberty to show the world who we truly are
Maybe we artists are crazy
But there is nothing wrong with a little crazy
Craziness fuels creativity
Creativity fuels the mind
And we artists shape the world
James Jarrett Feb 2014
The machine
Has taken on
A life of it's own
It has become purpose
Without reason
Purpose alone
It is wired
With rules and regulations
Written for compliance
For blind obedience
For it's own perpetuation
The cold machinations
Have no desire
No meaning
Other than purpose
To survive and grow
And we, we are
The lubricant
Crushed between
The gnashing gears
To aid the machine
And make it
Run smoothly
James Jarrett Mar 2014
"Resistance to tyranny is something that is as programmed into man as strongly as his propensity for oppression. Innately all of us know that we have certain rights that can only be removed by acquiescence or brute force.    For centuries philosophers have expounded the “natural rights” of man and their application within societies. Even those in prison know that they have certain rights and will begin to resist when their imprisonment becomes tyrannical. When a man becomes enslaved, he knows innately that he has the right to be free but that has been taken from him.   When our natural rights are eroded to the point of tyranny, resistance will invariably begin. Resistance ,and revolution also, are commonly misunderstood by many people. Most think of an armed struggle that involves bombs, bullets and war, but it is in fact far from that.  Resistance , as is freedom, is a thought, an idea without necessarily having a something to quantify it. Just because neither have a corporeal existence doesn’t mean that they are not there. When freedom is gone ,everyone knows it and when resistance begins it is just as obvious.     Resistance is a funny and fickle thing because it does things that are counter intuitive. The more you oppress, the more that people resist . The higher the stakes and the more the atrocities, the higher the level of resistance"
Yes, I am one of those rabble rousers
Xyns Apr 2014
Taste the sin
Breathe it in
Feeling the sting
Of the poisoning

May the rage
Never fade
May the truth
Be bulletproof

Let it just fall
Simply lose it all
Why try to stay
If you're pushed away

Love the contract
Eternal contact
Such a great lie
You'll want to die

It hurts to be
Giving in totally
To the darkness
You'll be worthless

But it's all necessary
For liberty.
For what is light
With nothing to fight?
James Jarrett Apr 2014
I have no wars

Left in me.

I am broken

Except in will.

My strength left

Is but  for a few battles.

My sword

Has grown heavy,

My hand weak.

The only strength left

Is in my heart.

Let my will then

Carry the fight for me.

Let my will

Bring me honor

Let my will

Swing the sword

For freedom

Let my will

Carry me to

My last battle
celestial Mar 2014
she yearns for freedom;
and craves to be liberated.
she wants to be released
like a bird, she says.
but i look at her
and whisper,
*even the birds are
chained to the sky.
(the last quote is from bob dylan)
Tord Apr 2014
you all are prisoners
forced to obey
the people's republic
of hell

it's precious
don't let it go
while counting
heaven's falling scars
(T.S.B.)
Madeline Mar 2014
they asked her what she wanted to be
when she was older
she replied “Lady Liberty”
and draped a toga around her
star-freckled shoulders
tissued fabric kissed her toes

she plucked a torch out of thin air
and shot it through with lightning
electric burns drew delicate scars on
the canvas of her forearms

the sun crowned her as a saviour
and the moon wrote love letters
while the sea-salt spray of the untameable ocean sang
a siren song of invincibility

and, with a wave of her hand,
the doors to freedom flew open.

— The End —