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Jacquerie

The Jacquerie (French: [ʒakʁi]) was a popular revolt by peasants that took place in northern France in the early summer of 1358 during the Hundred Years' War. The revolt was centred in the valley of the Oise north of Paris and was suppressed after over two months of violence. This rebellion became known as "the Jacquerie" because the nobles derided peasants as "Jacques" or "Jacques Bonhomme" for their padded surplice, called a "jacque". The aristocratic chronicler Jean Froissart and his source, the chronicle of Jean le Bel, referred to the leader of the revolt as Jacque Bonhomme ("Jack Goodfellow"), though in fact the Jacquerie 'great captain' was named Guillaume Cale. The word jacquerie became a synonym of peasant uprisings in general in both English and Fre… more »

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Alone in the ruins, where laughter once lived,
A father's heart empty, with nothing left to give.
His quest for vengeance, now a distant cry,
Underneath the cold, unfeeling sky.

With each step he falters, beneath the weight of grief,
Amongst the shadows, he seeks his final relief.
No solace in the daylight, nor comfort in the moon,
His spirit broken, the end comes all too soon.

In the silence of the fallen, a whisper on the wind,
A life once filled with purpose, now thin and dimmed.
The echoes of a battle, where no one could win,
A father's journey ends, where it did begin.

With a heavy hand, he reaches for his fate,
A solemn surrender, to the hands of hate.
Forgive me, my son, in this life marred by pain,
In the next, may we find peace, again.

As the twilight claims the day, and stars begin to show,
He lays down his weary head, where wildflowers grow.
A final breath, a tear escapes, free at last,
In the heart of his home, with his son, in the past.

Now he walks alone, where his home once lay,
Amongst the ruins, where children used to play.
His vengeance cold, his battle done,
In the echoes of rubble, lost his son.

Through the silence, his footsteps trace,
Ghosts of the past, a once vibrant place.
Memories flicker, like the last dying light,
Holding onto shadows, in the encroaching night.

Each stone tells a story, each echo a sigh,
The wind carries voices, of times gone by.
Here, he kneels, where it all began,
A final goodbye, to a war no one can win.

With a whisper, he promises, under the mournful sky,
"To find peace, my son, where the fallen lie."
In the ruins of his world, amidst the loss and the pain,
He lays down his burden, in the land that remains.

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