The Unrepentant Confession

 Something a little different. I guess that my imagination has been inflicted with all the evil men in the world. Their lack of compassion and feelings toward other people. Their unpredictable responses to people who they do not agree with. Their brazen attitudes and contempt toward the rule of law and humanity.

The Unrepentant Confession

I met a drunk, who spoke of awful things, that he had done,

Broken laws in many states, evaded justice, still on the run.

He spoke of crimes in reckless tones, explicit in detail,

And bragged how he outwitted men who sought to put him in jail.

 

He portrayed his victims as mere objects, void of worth or name,

How he stalked them through the streets as though it were a game.

He left them broken where they fell, then vanished out of town,

And while he kept on drifting, they had never tracked him down.

 

The tavern lights burned dim and low, the hour growing late,

While shadows gathered near our booth like something close to fate.

The laughter from the other folk grew distant, faint, and thin,

As though the world beyond our space no longer dared step in.

 

He smiled at moments ill-suited, then fell deathly still a-gin,

As though old memories stirred, somewhere, far beneath his skin.

I watched the twitching of his jaw, the tightening of his hands,

And spoke to calm the rampant fire, that no man understands.

 

For something dark behind his eyes seemed restless, cold, and strange,

And every careful question asked appeared to make him change.

I felt the stiffness in my spine each time he leaned in near,

While every word he softly spoke seemed sharpened now by fear.

 

I asked him why recount such tales so sordid and obscene,

And what he thought that he would gain now, in coming clean.

He said he’d turned another page, and left the past behind,

That he had called upon the Lord and now possessed peace of mind.

 

He claimed, God had washed his sins and freed him from his shame,

And said retracing steps once more would serve no useful gain.

“No point,” he said, “in dredging up what’s buried deep and gone,

The Lord forgives the truly saved, and life must still go on.”

 

The tavern keeper glanced our way, then quickly looked aside,

As though he sensed that something foul beneath the surface lied.

The room grew quieter still, as if the night itself had drawn

Its breath closed in, around our table, waiting for the dawn.

 

I thought about the cold case files left gathering dust for years,

The sleepless nights endured still by the victims’ kin through tears.

The empty chairs, the unanswered prayers, the grief that never ends,

While he sought comfort for himself beneath religion’s lens.

 

He leaned in close; the stale drink upon his breath, hard to bear,

And for a fleeting moment then, I feared what lingered there.

His eyes grew fixed, and vacant-like, then sharpened suddenly,

As though he searched my face to learn what I believed to see.

 

I thought to rise and end the talk, escape into the night,

Yet something deep within me warned retreat may not be right.

So, I carefully chose my words, and kept my movements small,

For men who carry buried rage may snap without recall.

 

He laughed at things no soul should laugh remembering the dead,

Then drifted into silence with both trembling hands outspread.

And once he softly named a town where no one knew his face,

Then smiled and said, “Some folks just vanish, without a trace.”

 

The wind outside began to press against the window frame,

As though it too had heard enough to know the man’s true name.

And still I felt unable to depart or break away,

As if the air itself refused to let me rise and stray.

 

At last, he rose unsteadily and staggered out into the night,

He didn’t look back, his nefarious form swallowed out of sight.

Though I had seen no sorrow live, no anguish, fear, nor dread,

I had indeed, seen all the ghosts, of all the victims in his head.

Written By: Alan.Clark@WW1POET (May 2026)

Oh Liberty

 Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free!

The Statue of Liberty no longer a beacon welcoming the world to the American shores.

The USA now ruled by Trumps ruthless regime of misfits and abusers. His supporters just standing by, watching the circus of insanity that they have brought to the Capital. Complicity!

ICE rounding up innocent civilians, immigrants and even tourists. Then subjecting them to terror and abuse.

This is the age of enrichment and self-centered politicians who feel entitled to take what is not theirs to take from the poor and the destitute. Of war mongering pirates on the high seas! The age of Bitcoin and Bribes. The age of ignorance, lies, misinformation, broken promises and treaties.

Oh Liberty

Oh Liberty, by your grace, your poise—dear friend of mine,

I see your torch held high, a beacon burning bright through time.

How I admire your crown, so justly worn, your virtues bold,

With faith and courage beating strong within my heart and soul.

 

For you, Liberty, the checkered road I’ve left behind,

To live within your light and dream again of better times.

The past—of pain and sorrow—where in misery I dwelt,

Now bound as one beneath freedom’s gaze, I stand, not knelt.

 

At sight of you, my hope, my strength, my dreams take root,

In freedom found, my restless mind stands resolute.

From those who sought to press upon my head a crown of thorns,

To tear away my liberty and leave my spirit torn.

 

Each rising sun sets fire anew within your lifted flame,

A path to freedom found, where all may come and stake a claim.

Oh Liberty, kindred spirit, with your sacred tablet held,

A living word of freedom, where oppression once was quelled.

 

Your broken chains and shattered shackles speak of what was cast—

Of tyrannies and rigid caste that bound us to the past.

The jangle now drowned by The Liberty Bell in Philadelphia rung,

To the sound of the anthem in The Star-Spangled Banner sung.

 

Oh Liberty, reminder of the values for which you’ve stood fast,

In threat of foreign wars, and fear still born within the downcast.

With the fabric of your robes now left threadbare with discontent,

By men of greed who break the dream of hope with ill intent.

 

They cast aside the bonds of trust that make a nation strong,

And seek to rewrite the Constitution—turning right to wrong.

But we will rise again at sight of you, to face each growing threat,

As venom seeks to stain that sacred word—we will not forget.

 

United in the cause of peace, in all you stood before,

We hold the line, remembering what freedom stands for.

And though the winds may lash your torch, and tides may turn away,

Its fire endures—reflected in the eyes that yearn for day.

Written By: Alan.Clark@WW1POET (May 2026)

Epitome of Ruin

 

Epitome of Ruin

Will they ever learn humility, to turn the distasteful volume down,

The awful sound that they espouse, the hatred that they found.

Will they learn to walk another away, from the loathsome lies,

The odious thoughts, the nasty talk, from the devils in disguise.

 

The wicked games, that are not theirs to play, the roads they trod,

The wicked sport, the sick desire to possess the eternal will of God.

Their choice of wrath, and death, being one with demons served,

Their narrow-minded sects, the strange rituals they have observed.

 

The blind fury that boils inside, the ignorant way that they behave,

As they scornfully toss and turn, from good to bad, in rant and rave.

They are the blasphemy of innocence, the destroyers of dreams,

Driven by homicidal insanity, to impose their despicable extremes.

 

And as they talk the script of hate, and walk the talk of death,

With words that burn the innocent, with the acid on their breath.

They have become the epitome, that burns their souls with angry talk,

Driven by the reckless bitter wind, that fuels thoughtless squawk.

 

They have set the world apart, to the crazy sound of venting forth,

Fueled by their mindless hate, that blows to and from the north.

They have abandoned mothers’ love, turned sacrifice into stone,

That marks the wars, that they have waged, turned life into bone.

 

Perhaps one day their awful sound of vengeance will finally fade,

Their false kingdoms turn to dust; in the sediment they have made.

Written By: Alan.Clark@WW1POET (April2026)

The Longest Walk

 

The Longest Walk

Step by step, he suffered out the longest walk, the final slog,

The searing agony that marked that blood-soaked epilogue.

Step by step, that uphill trudge, beneath the weight of sacrifice,

The crushing path that led him on toward promised paradise.

The walk of a righteous life, for all who choose to take,

Where paths of life and death converge, and souls are made or break.

Each weary step, with blood and sweat, pressed deep into the ground,

A crucifixion carved in time, where grace and pain are bound.

 

Step by step, the burden of the cross bore down his frame,

Step by step, it dragged behind, a splintered mark of shame.

The haunting thought—how long could flesh endure such pain?

On ancient roads where countless souls had suffered just the same.

Innocent and guilty both, condemned by mortal hand,

Some for truth, and some for sin, none spared the harsh command.

Driven on by biting lash across a torn and bleeding back,

Each strike a cruel reminder of the strength his body lacked.

 

Then came the moment—bone and burden met the dust below,

A splintered crash of timber, and a muffled cry of woe.

He fell beneath its crushing weight, spent strength now overcome,

The earth itself seemed stirred to hush, the crowd at once struck numb.

A stumble first, then down he went, no strength to brace the blow,

His blood upon the hardened path began again to flow.

The wood that marked his sentence ground against his torn, raw skin,

Each breath a fight for life itself—yet still the will within.

 

Yet still he rose, though failing now, beneath the crushing load,

Until another bore the weight along that fateful road.

And still the crowd pressed in around, a tide of scorn and cries,

Unseeing of the sacrifice set before their very eyes.

And we who lined that narrow way beheld the sorrow there,

Some turned aside in silent grief; some watched with hollow stare.

Some jeered aloud, unmoved by pain, with hardened, cruel delight,

While others wept but dared not speak, nor stand for what was right.

 

Eyes met his own—what did we see within that fleeting gaze?

Condemnation, fear, or love… or truth that set ablaze?

For in those eyes no hatred burned, no anger, no disdain—

But something deeper, vast, and still, that outlived mortal pain.

Step by step, through dust and pain, through anguish deep and wild,

Step by step, endured for all—the broken, lost, reviled.

With all the weight of humankind upon his shoulders cast,

He walked a path of suffering, from first breath to the last.

 

And in that walk, a truth remains for all who choose to see,

That strength is forged in suffering, and grace in agony.

For every step through trials borne with courage, heart, and will,

Leads not to death alone—but to a higher calling still.

Are we the hush of doubt that denies—and walks no more,

Who felt the truth before us—yet chose to feel no more.

Or are we those who choose to walk the very road he trod,

To bear the weight with steadfast hearts, in faith, in truth, in God.

Written By: Alan.Clark@WW1POET (March 2026)

The Paths that Meet Again

 

The Paths that Meet Again

As I walked along the paths he had laid, my footsteps where he trod,

I saw a child in tune, who learned and spoke the sacred word of God.

From Bethlehem to Egypt, through the Holy Land, each day within his stride,

To Jerusalem at last—Golgotha, the skull—where, persecuted, he was crucified.

 

From strength to strength, I watched, and read how wisdom came to grow,

I listened to the word; rewritten through the centuries that we know.

My mind stepped back and forth through time, my thoughts by years torn apart,

Yet felt a wonderous well of quiet strength, a love ascending within my heart.

 

I sensed the gentle hand of God, that flowed where many dare not go,

While others lived in fractured worlds, in madness I could never know.

Yet in that hush between the noise, a deeper truth began to grow,

A whispered path beneath the chaos, only willing hearts would know.

 

I passed through whispered temples, where incense curled in silent air,

In mosques bowed heads touched the earth in humble, fervent prayer.

Through synagogues of ancient song, where old covenant voices rise,

And eastern paths of stillness, where truth is sought with inward eyes.

 

I heard the mantras softly breathed beneath the turning of the wheel,

Saw silent monks in saffron robes, where suffering learns to kneel.

In desert sands to mountain shrines, through every tongue a sacred sound,

The search for truth remained the same—in different form and fabric found,

 

I saw a familiar light, through fractured glass, that burned just the same,

Where earnest pledges were declared, to the sacred echoes of a holy name.

Such reverence in meditation, and prayer, each faithful following devout,

Spiritually cleansing their mortal souls, as they drove the evil spirits out.

 

I passed by men in gathering, hands bound by their communal sin,

In hypocrisy they followed stone words, echoing on hollow walls within.

Tightly entwined, bound by ancient voices speaking prophecies of old,

Men tethered fast in heavy chains to pillars dressed in plundered gold.

 

Saints carved in wood and stone, eyes cast down in silent contemplation,

While men would sin, then kneel again, repenting for eternal salvation.

They venerated their crafted relics, etched with runes of ancient lore,

And hummed their solemn, sacred chants as done for years before.

 

Their followers’ eyes glazed over, held in some eternal blinding plight,

Their souls adrift between the shadows, wavering between dark and light.

I heard them preach of death to those of other faiths who also pray,

Their vision fixed on conquest, to erase all those who stood in their way.

 

I felt the venom in their hearts, the righteousness they claimed as right,

As persecution cloaked itself in the robes of virtue, veiled in its light.

On every side, discordant extremity grew—hatred feeding on its own,

Reason bent and twisted thin; compassion crushed beneath the stone.

 

They preached of vengeance, purging mercy from the chambers of the soul,

And walked down roads of darkness, broken and scarred with every toll.

Blind to the light within their reach, yet claiming righteous sight,

They traded grace for bitter crowns and called their blindness light.

 

Yet through it all I sensed ahead a marker set beyond the pain,

A moment carved in ancient thought where all the paths would meet again.

So, I looked beyond the wars of men, beyond the blood, the endless cries,

Toward a place where peace might dwell beneath more understanding skies.

 

From where the roads of man once split and wandered far, divided, torn,

To where they meet again in unity, and something new in us is born.

Where madness loosens from its grip upon the kingdoms of the earth,

And man's humanity rediscovers compassion’s quiet, sacred worth.

 

Not one return in flesh alone, nor crowned upon a throne above,

But in the steps of humankind—reborn through empathy and love.

In the second coming, not of one, but found in all humanity:

The sons and daughters risen together, in truth, in peace, in unity.

Written By: Alan.Clark@WW1POET (April 2026)

A Seed from Afar

 

A Seed from Afar

Sing, O silent voice of reason, of the child beneath the night,

Lost below the countless stars and heaven’s endless height.

Alone his little mind wandered, where the silent heavens burned,

To contemplate the empty vast, in reflective thought it turned.

In wonder of what exists in infinity, far beyond the Milky Way,

Past the fringe of darkness, where the eternal light decays.

Beyond the universe, to the cosmos, too vast to comprehend,

Where answers may yet linger—to the beginning, and the end.

 

Going where space unfolds into infinite unknown matter,

Out where fine cosmic dust and celestial ash lie scattered.

Perhaps out there, the genesis of life—a power most divine,

The answer to all mystery, and the very thread of time.

Or maybe at the edge—a vast, and unbreachable domain,

An impervious cosmic boundary, a great enclosing plane.

Protecting all life’s existence in a state of unseen being,

By some gigantic celestial force—a watchful eye, all-seeing.

 

As he searched the endless haze, his eyes fixed on a darkened hole,

Perhaps a silent mirror of something lost within his soul.

Then from the depths of space, beyond the reach of time, it came—

The finest shaft of light, igniting conscious thought within his brain.

No force announced its coming, no voice from throne or sky,

It moved with gentle certainty, just as quiet as a sigh.

Borne of the night, within that silver beam, a sacred seed was sown,

And in that silent moment, he knew, he was no longer alone.

 

Like a tiny ember burning in tinder, stirred by tender breeze,

Cradled in creation’s grasp, held softly in its parentheses.

Some thought it but a shooting star, a fleeting streak of light,

A dying spark of matter that had pierced the veil of night.

Yet within his mind of innocence, it rooted, deep and true,

Taking fragile infant steps through all he journeyed through.

From trials and from errors made, its quiet wisdom grew,

A forming, living conscience evolved, in philosophical debut.

 

The seed of promise flourished where its silent roots had grown,

And wisdom rose and strengthened in a mind now fully sown.

Rising from each shadowed night, though the path was often long,

Still the seed pressed onward, gathering resolve, growing strong.

It learned to weather scorn and pain, through hardship it endured,

With every burden carried, a strong foundation was secured.

And in the depths of wondering, through uncertainty it shone,

That single spark multiplied—no longer lost, nor alone.

 

Planting seeds of kindness in the soil of others’ where it thrived,

Through shadow and through sunlight, ever onward it strived.

Each trial it encountered became etched, an eternal flight,

As it pierced the deepest darkness and absorbed the guiding light.

The night could not contain it, nor could fear its course confine,

Bearing all life’s weight, its quiet flames began to shine.

And when those tender seedlings bent beneath the strain of strife,

They gathered strength and marked their place upon the face of life.

 

The world was often cruel, and the weight of pain severe,

Yet still they stood unwavering, unbroken through their fear.

No chains nor bitter tempests could bend their steady minds,

For light had taken root within, its truth no darkness blinds.

Where once confusion lingered, now conscience took its place,

And patient hands of reason shaped a path of truth and grace.

To plant in others’ hearts the same enduring, gentle art—

To grow the seed of understanding in the garden of the heart.

Written By: Alan.Clark@WW1POET (March 2026)

Impartiality — The Face of Quiet Complicity

 

Impartiality — The Face of Quiet Complicity

When I looked into your silent eyes, the devil there I saw,

As your demons cried in anguish at the haunting scenes of war.

Your soul devoid of judgement, as other lives dissolved,

Silent acts against humanity — not forgiven, nor absolved.

 

There upon the ground you stood, in the wasted blood of others,

Innocent people slaughtered — newborn infants and their mothers.

You watched with glazen eyes as the crimes were committed,

Thinking silence had purchased a conscience now acquitted.

 

So complicit — I sensed it — your failure your demise,

A shameful lack of empathy you could not well disguise.

Your body stood there anchored, while inward madness raged,

The sickness left to flourish — the wickedness they waged.

 

You saw them boast and celebrate their vile parade of death,

I thought I smelled the taint of complicity upon your breath.

And in that moment, I knew it — your wretched soul was lost,

You never grasped the weight, nor the reckoning of cost.

 

You betrayed all acts of decency, morality, and humanity,

Turned your back on justice, bowed down to paralytic insanity.

Who am I to judge you — to heap this shame upon you?

Yet I shine a light upon the lens you willingly looked through.

 

To lay blame at your feet for doing nothing — frozen mind,

To burst the hollow refuge where you have long enshrined.

A sanctuary where reason’s voice lay hidden, bound, and lost,

While you allowed such evil deeds — and never weighed the cost.

 

There in the ranks of power and politics — where you stood,

You kept the lid sealed tight — and chose to do no good.

I sense an endless burden of guilt will claim your soul,

As the world we thought we knew spirals out of control.

 Written by: Alan Clark (March 2026)

@POTUS @Trump Politicians America USA Epstein IRAN Isreal

Where the Light of Karma Falls

 

Where the Light of Karma Falls

Beautiful Karma, each day around the globe she goes,

Above indifferent skies, beyond the horizon where she rose.

Steadfastly watching over us, her pull attuned to tides,

Reflecting the sun’s radiant light wherever darkness hides.

Some have said that Karma is a bitch, etched in ancient runes,

Shining down her heavenly light, keeping the world in tune.

 

A mysterious angel watches over me — Karma is her name,

Others say, “A gift of God!” and I love her just the same.

She was set aloft, to right the wrongs, in her just crusade,

Against the evil of mankind and the crooked games they played.

Karma can turn the tide from wickedness once wrought,

Making evil pay the cost for the harm that it has brought.

I love the way she reins in sinners, gently settling the score,

And the beauty of the way she goes about her patient chore.

Sending down warning lessons that injustice never pays,

As she cleanses the world of sin and all its crooked ways.

The watchful eye of Karma sees the paths that mortals tread,

And where her heavenly light must fall, the truth is always read.

I bear no shame to have the breath of Karma on my lips,

To wear the blush of reparation in the colour of her eclipse.

My thanks go out to Karma, and all the good she brings,

And I truly love to hearken to the sacred songs she sings.

The sound of her work brings sweet music to my ears,

Eternal Karma, beacon of hope through the passing years.

None can hide from Karma’s eye, wherever they may roam,

For every truth is written within the light of Karma’s home.

Written By: Alan.Clark@WW1POET (March 2026)