Art with Enemies (a poem by Jack)

Art within art..A love mosaic of luxury I’ve become..

A sliced piece of Picasso.. 

Ripped from its original canvas .. And placed here.. On your canvas.. On display for all to see..

From the past I belong from the past I will return..

But you.. You’re something different..

You follow me from place to place.. Canvas to canvas..

Unlikely it’s coincidence.. More likely you have a vendetta..

While everyone sees me as the abstract idealism I present..

You bleed through their emotions and show them the worst of me..

A part of me that no longer exist.. No longer existed.. But you want to carry forth the past as though it did not die in its error..

Follow me on the crisp summer night.. The wind is still.. The noise is quiet..

And you’re here.. Following me.. Awaiting any possible chink in my bulwark..

Any fucking vulnerability..

You pounce– I suffer–You celebrate

And the cycle continues..

Living art I am.. Because as the canvas changes.. So does the art from which its inspiration derives..

The living dead… (A poem by Jack)

They beat the backs of the already slain…Dead men… Who couldn’t fight back if they knew how.. Unaborted souls.. Inhabiting fully capable bodies..Capable in the sense that a potential exist… Yet with no Will to realize …what is potential but yet another burden..

But what is an entity with no link to it’s past.. No more than the walking dead..a mind without direction becomes mindless and numb.. A soul without fire… Becomes the life source of parasites… 

Behavior is a learned process..

Human is a learned process..

Devolving is a learned process..

What strength can a man have if he knows only bounds and limitations of his will?

When can a man be a god? If he is only taught to be a law abiding citizen..

Can your imagination set you free… If your willingness to imagine has been killed.. Poisoned… Infiltrated and replaced..

Don’t kill us… For we are already dead.. 

We will rise… And soon.. Until then.. Even a dead man’s life matters…

Strong grip (a poem by Jack)

You can’t guilt me out my destiny..
I will be… That I am on this earth…

Truth be told… I’m more than a summation of philosophies… As I rest my head down at night… Nose to the north.. The moonlight caresses much more than my flesh.. It touches my thoughts… And allows my soul to traverse..
Decades become minutes… Lifetimes become forgotten memories.. 

Yet I always awaken..

I always awaken to this world… And it’s seemingly monotony..

This world isn’t death.. So far from it.. This world isn’t life… This world is an understanding of self… And a realization of what exactly you’re capable of, given the right circumstance…

Are you who you thought you was?

Are you what you thought you were?

Who’s birthright can you truly claim..

If you fulfill this destiny… What will be your next? And who desires such..

Perhaps this world would be a world of understanding if confusion did not reign as the midnight’s storm…

Rulers…

I will be me… Be that as it may…

Jack (who am I) [a poem by Jack]

We’re something like a clone..

 Yet strikingly dissimilar..You see.. Like a clone, we replicate a symbol.. When that symbol is no longer useful.. We assume that symbol’s place.. Destroy the proxy… And all was as it was.. 

Damn… He was so good in 2013.. I wish he was like that again..

Impossible.. That version no longer exist..

I hope you took pictures…

No… We’re something different.. We too share titles.. But we’re far from replica’s of each other.. 

Like King.. God.. Satan.. Sultan.. All titles that are worn..

Heavy is the head…

Like all titles.. They are to be fought for, usurped.. And maintained..

Much bloodshed and misery has been undergone in the pursuit of my title..

I see the evil’s of men.. And the deeds withholding..

Heavy is the head…

I am Jack… 

We are Jack…

We give nothing but warning and condolence… We judge but seek to judge not… For evil needs life and fights for breath just as any other would..

As stated… We’re something like a clone.. But far from it… You can’t replicate our minds.. But an attempt can be made to copy our mind state..

Yo can’t replicate our souls… But an attempt to live off of our soul’s residue can be made… Can be sustained.. Until the next echelon… And you too, will be just a memory in the annals of time..

The dark hurts… (A poem by Jack)

They don’t want me to live..The adore me too much..

They want me all to themselves.. Fulfilling their desires..

It’s cold outside.. So cold..

And it’s getting dark.. Burnt skies..

And they are winning..

Flooding the psyche of a dilapidated warrior..

Misplaced love..

Do not they know their envy is crushing me?

Do not they know I do not belong to them but to the world..

I can’t feel freedom because I don’t belong to myself..

A wounded warrior… Yet they still find the most use out of me..

They want me crushed.. So that they may have the joy of building me back up..

Like Humpty Dumpty how will they put me back together again?

With precision and special modifications..

They need a machine they can manage.. Not a god they can follow..

They, sincerely, don’t want me to live.. 

Kill Bird (Blindside) a poem by Jack

Clouds, birds… Cars..
The monotony is suffocating..
Everyday damn day.. The past never changes..

I am king..

I am God

I am truth

I am light
I am corrupted rhetoric

I am The Black
Who am I to give myself to one..

When I should be divvied up for as many as possible to devour.. Chew of me..

Slaughter me.. Resurrect me.. Masticate of me til satiated…
Satiation is freedom… And my freedom leads to salvation
Blame one.. Blame all.. Blame me for your sins..

But who am I but a man.. Like you..

If you saw the miracles I’ve saw you could do em too
All that you need do is perceive.. Monkey see.. Monkey do…
But when all you see is the same.. The monotony will eventually devour all that is you…   

Go about your day… (A poem by Jack)

Twinkle twinkle..You shine.. 
We see, 

Take notice,

 you are unsure..

We capitulate, you remain humble..

We give honor, you go on about your day..
You walk with swollen pride, they don’t know why..

They confer among themselves.. They found out why, but would never allow you to know..
It’s funny.. Because you go about your day regardless.. 

Twinkle, twinkle.. You shine..

Maybe you may want to step back and lose focus.. Lose the concentration on the now.. And all the circumstances the now presents…

It’s all an attempt to dim the light..
Imagine a twinkle so bright the darkness would have no choice but to fear…. 

Imagine..

What good is imagination if you do nothing but go about your day..

If you can’t see the then coincidentally with the now… 

What’s the point of a twinkle at all…

Choices… (A poem by Jack)

The people spoke..

The universe tells..

Let go of the past.. Release the history.. That’s the only way to move forward..

Unfortunately that theme doesn’t resonate with me..

History can’t be let go when it’s embedded with so much Hate..

The only reciprocation is punishment..Action without consequence isn’t freedom.. It’s a lie..

I am here to alleviate.. Bring forth truth..

The only truth I know is selection.. Divine order.. 

And choices require responses..

A pruning is to occur… 

The next echelon will not land on us.. We must usher such forth.. The Gatekeepers of humanity must do their part.. And we must do ours..

The lion will not roar.. And the dragon will not soar.. Without the choices of our Will being activated…

An uprising..       In which no soul is safe..

What’s your choice?

Cowardly Lion (a poem by Jack)

What’s a lion… Stripped of its mane?What’s a lion.. Stripped of its roar?

What’s a lion.. Stripped of its pride?

I’ve seen lost men… Wondering souls.. Prideless reservoirs of built up frustrations.. Repressed human instincts.. Dulled.. Extinguished..

Where is all the strength?

It didn’t disappear.. Vanquished? 

Simply appropriated.. 

The mother of the universe cries out in pity.. Woe is thy man.. And all that thee have become..

Pity to the design I created.. And the abhorrence it has become.. Some say an evolution.. But I see a corrupt mutation..

Woe to man and what it has become.. Displaced instincts.. Displaced spirits.. Living in a distilled environment..

Woe to the disciples that can still see what lies in plain sight.. Do not allow the chastisement to sully the righteous spirit..

Eventually the lion will war again.. Eventually the lion will roar again..

As acentric as one’s sentience would lead the consciousness to believe the universe to be.. It isn’t so..Perception isn’t always the complete truth.. Only a fraction of such..

The lion will Roar again…

Tears cry.. (A prophecy of Jack)

Red blood flows through thin crevices..Hearts spill..

As pain cries out..

The only sound that could be heard is the sound of forsaken…

There’s an ode coming into existence..

For what sprang forth this expression..
The spirits cry out.. And there is a hunger for more.. We can no longer be restrained as we embark upon a new echelon..The thirst for the real is overwhelming.. An unbridled truth that sustains souls…

They ask, who will save us?

They will not be saved.. Those who can be saved will save themselves.. That’s precisely why their souls cry out..

It’s painful leaving all you know behind.. Knowing you can’t save them.. It’s even more painful seeing all your hope escape your grasp.. What is left but to be swallowed up..

Maybe if I can become machine I can sustain some semblance? Perhaps I can go back and somehow change it all.. Save myself, us.. Because after all.. Do not we deserve to live just as much?

Fate opposes.. And would have it no less.. Destroyers eventually become destroyed.. As the creators move on to create again.. Do not fret.. And do not seek to absolve yourself of destiny… Fear not.. That which you delight in most shall be your undoing..

Crimson tears will flow like rivers..

And we will not look back.. Only forward.. To the next echelon..

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