War is indeed a racket. It is of man-made design; a cycle of life and death. It is an industry, and it has no boundaries, no sense of duty but to itself... Responsibility means nothing to it collectively, and its only obligation is to thrive. It is a machine, a military industrial complex, and it is well-oiled by lies and the blood of trusting men. Its motivation is not honorable, but designed to coerce, to drive, to convince by the manufacture of fear, blind duty, and justifications based on a bottom line. A bottom line with nothing more of consequence but profit, their profit.
Those who resist a Central Bank, those who do not want to play this game, are systematically destroyed, and by any means necessary. Our gold is gone, Fort Knox has not been audited for 50 years, and our civil liberties with it, and those who have the audacity to question are branded traitors, terrorists. Patriots are infiltrated in mind and spirit, and lost.
It is evident that war isn't for the American good, though more than 60 percent of what me manufacture inadvertently is related to war... as both the destruction of a country and the reconstruction does not but marginally increase our wealth, and in the process new industry is built on the ashes with slave labor, displacing our ability to manufacture. In the process, our middle class is shrinking, and good men are dying on battle fields around the world, and can not say why... They, nor or we, privy to that information.
We are coerced to be consumers, not manufactures, and we buy these cheaply made products built to break, because of an insatiable appetite to be spenders, not savers, and our demand for quality is gone... and with it...Our children's future is rent and rifle with out-of-control debt, and there is little we can do about it. We purchase on credit, and become slaves to an ever-changing system without stops, without rules, and we are so propagandized we think it all an original thought.
Our liberty is stripped from us, and our freedoms granted by an all-encompassing and domineering international government who make promises that can not be fulfilled, and they own our Congress. They feed enough of us, on money printed out of thin air, scraps from the master's table... to insure unlimited dependency on them, a system, a way of thinking, and with that, our future belongs to them. It is a game, and very well played, and the rules are hidden in a book that they have written, shared only among themselves... It is a book that says that they are above all else... above the law, and detached from the ignorant masses who do their bidding...
And in the middle of this fry, we have engineers... perhaps an element of hope for this country might rest in their hands... And, as we have lost so much of what we once held high, displaced with worthlessness... we might remember a time when men looked into each others eyes, oaths were written in blood, and poems enlightened and soothed their souls, and so, in honor or what we once were America, I give you my rhyme... and just perhaps, you might see it's worth.
By Ken LaRive
12-21-1998 revised 12-10-2013
Darkness grows, and storm wind blows,
Time’s cold blast, goes fiercely past,
The engineer on the rail...
His bright eyes glow, intelligence know,
That violent storm, of mindless form,
Will crush us without fail...
What hands have made, by will we’ve saved,
With steadfast dreams, the future gleams,
The building our reward...
To men he gave, a road to pave,
A bridge to build, an iron will,
That cursed the dogs of war...
He stood between, the death machine,
Our future’s stead, was in his head,
Rebuilt upon the dust...
With directed toil, we drilled for oil,
Showed we could, together would,
Reclaim our holy trust...
Impetus to stand, on blackened land,
New reasons to sing, bells will ring,
As proclamation of our joys...
Air cleared, displaced our fear,
Children grew, under skies of blue,
With flowers as their toys...
But engineers know, that morrows grow,
On life today, death has it’s way,
And memory is lost...
For all our tasks, will surely pass,
Dark shadows climb, long past our prime,
For a banker's pitch and toss...
Trynny will blow, our liberty low,
A need to kill, will take our will,
And fearful minds forget...
Those peace-full days, and gentle ways,
The lies that blind, control our mind,
When the racket of war is set...
Engineers know, that cold winds blow,
Time erodes, and dreams explode,
The strongest resolve will bend...
Roofs will fall, on every hall,
Paid with sweat, and blood, and mud,
And ways of life will end...
Flags will burn, with reason spurned,
Ideals will die, glories will fly,
On winds of smoke and sin...
But there’s a price, that rolls our dice,
For spring’s return, and peace relearned,
Engineers will build again...
A banker's whim, the fall of men,
Civilization's mind, a twisted rhyme,
For volition to return...
And time will tell, if balanced well,
A new day saw, a universal law,
For something new to burn...
Author's Note: Perhaps we can engineer peace?