Lost

 

Lost

Hello child, why do you search? What have you lost?

Why are you confused, your thoughts so crossed?

What keeps you awake at night, what restless dream?

While the others have slept, where have you been?

Somewhere deep in your mind, God only knows,

With mysterious thoughts, where anxiety grows.

What have you lost, what remedy do you pursue?

Why is your face blank, your happiness subdued?

Is it because Christmas Day is drawing near?

The season of receiving gifts, the season of cheer!

Is the pit of your stomach causing you pain?

What bottomless notions are wracking your brain?

Why is your attention drawn to the tree?

What do you wish? What do you need?

 

Somewhere in the spirit of giving and receiving,

Is found the beating heart and soul of believing.

For Christmas has spread all around the world,

A joyous time for all the little boys and girls.

In the South it’s summer, sunshine all around,

In the North deep snowdrifts covering ground.

Set in anticipation, the Christmas bells are rung,

The sound of angels heard in the carols sung.

It is time to show gratitude for kindness received,

To give thanks for the miraculous birth believed.

Our tables stocked with sweet foods to savour,

An assortment of goodies packed full of flavour.

The festive mood leaving minds set in good stead,

With the abundance of good wishes being read.

 

But in another place, far, far away from here,

Something has drowned the sound of cheer.

The little children shedding tears, in sadness torn,

Their mothers in dark mourning robes adorned.

No father for Christmas, so sadly stolen away,

No dreams of the reindeer, of Santa and his sleigh.

Little comfort this season, as the sirens sound,

To the missiles and bombs that beat the ground.

The Grinch that has stolen so much love away,

Leaving in its place an empty hole, filled with pain.

Oh, precious innocence, little hearts filled with grief,

Struck down with the dreadful burden of disbelief.

Waking from this awful nightmare, battered and scared,

Half of their childhood lying in some graveyard.

 

When we give thanks, we should remember them,

In their innocence, their childhoods condemned.

As we learn to feel the burden of their pain,

Trapped in a world of war so bloodstained.

Thanks be to God, His eternal Son so sorely given,

Born on Christmas Day, His soul so badly riven.

By a world set against the gracious spirit of giving,

Banished by mankind from the land of the living.

Content to divide the world into strange sects,

Building boundaries between different dialects.

Putting themselves before the needs of others,

Turning man against man, brothers against brothers.

Where the fabric of life is woven on dissenting looms,

The angels constantly singing the saddest of tunes.

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

The Sickest of the Sick

 

The Sickest of the Sick

Save a thought and another prayer for them,

With the expert Starship staff, spread so thin.

Each day the tumor’s growing and spreading,

Into an unpleasant mass of painful dreading.

Lying there in a ghastly state day and night,

Sentenced, held hostage, without respite.

The drugs and therapy so hard to ingest,

The thought of death so difficult to digest.

The look of anguish on each mother’s face,

Their desperation so difficult to erase.

Where is the doctor, where is the nurse?

To lend a hand, to ease this appalling curse.

The fatigue and breathlessness over again,

Fragile lungs desperately demanding oxygen.

The nausea, incessant vomiting and the runs,

The horrific stress on their heart and lungs.

Desperately fighting within the lucid dreams,

Body numbness, hands n feet, infant screams.

Delicate infants that easily bruise n bleed inside,

Brittle little nails and sensitive skin left really dry.

These children are among the sickest of the sick,

Distressed little bodies, tiny souls so angelic.

Fetch more doctors, summon more good nurses,

For these precious little lives deserve their chances.

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

Forever Turns the Twist of Fate

 Forever Turns the Twist of Fate: The love of his life!

Forever Turns the Twist of Fate

 

One day I ascended into a world of dreams within the clouds,

Softly landing within a warm embrace, where love abounds.

Just as if Aphrodite had had some mystical part to play,

Fused two stars to shine as one, and cast my past away.

That day fate dealt a perfect hand, that I shall never forget,

In the chemistry, a flawless blend, when our eyes first met.

A welcome comfort, I had never known, I no longer felt alone,

Within the invisible bond, was a lovely place to call my home.

 

Where I could put the past to rest, leave all the pain behind,

Far from the lonesome ache, the darkest nights entwined.

Where “Spare the rod! Spoil the child! Cruel to be kind!” ruled,

The world of discipline, where sadness and anxiety pooled.

But with respite, in the clouds, the wretched spell was broken,

For my spirits rose high, as another side of me was awoken.

Up above the turbulent blight, beyond the inclement cloud,

Where a soft veil of emotions became the sweetest shroud.

 

Two to be, in harmony together, set within a matching dream,

Carried along in unison, floating in sync, in a steady stream.

What seemed like an everlasting bond, that had been created,

A paradise where our hearts and souls, were held captivated.

Alas, love can only endure the lifetime that bravely let it be,

Just a fleeting phase, in the expanse of mortal time, for thee.

Its taste the essence of honey dew, from that fountain aloft,

Its touch gentle as the warmest breeze, its welcome mantle soft.

In love, another world, well away from my life so mundane,

Beyond the cruel prison walls, where I had worn the chains.

The seamless accord between two, a perfect state of fusion,

Waking each day to realize that true love is not an illusion.

The bond so strong, the faithful connection, of togetherness,

Captivated, held within the perfect dream of foreverness.

 

Sadly, a shocking twist of fate, dealt an awful stroke of play,

A fatal blow, that struck hard, took the love of my life away.

My whole world shattered, beyond repair, my mind went blank,

As my heart sunk, back into the empty world of little thanks.

Life is so fragile, I had never dreamt, an awful act so cruel,

That tore my whole world apart, stealing my precious jewel.

 

As grief became my only haunt, an empty void I filled each day,

Into the hopeless state, that occupied my mind, there I stayed.

I felt so numb, amidst the mist of grief, my spirit cast aside,

As five ghosts appeared, these emotions that I could not hide.

First came Ember, weaving false hope with my mind in denial,

As I refused to accept the truth, trying to turn back the dial.

The empty dream, brought no respite, my hope disallowed,

For the flame had gone, burned down into an ashen cloud.

As Ember drained every breath, of oxygen, I gasped for more air,

For in the pit of the smoldering fire, no hope was found in there!

Day after solemn day, each the same, the weeks and months by,

The winter worst, rain, like tears fell, I had no more hope, to cry!

And yet the pain endures, as love and loss, in emptiness remain,

Those memories will forever persist, hand in hand with all the pain.

The little things in life that arouse the love that she brought to me,

A smell, a touch, a taste, a sight, a sound, that evoked each memory.

 

Then Ira came, when I realized Ember was an empty ampoule,

And I turned on God, as Ira’s rage fed my grief, and filled the hole.

Why had our love been forsaken, the spiritual fusion broken apart?

Was it the fearful wrath of God, that had wrenched my heart?

Consumed with anger, I saw within the world an old familiar face,

Its darkness once again cast the shadows; love had striven to erase.

Why do the good have to die so young, when the unworthy remain?

Why is life so unpredictable, the will to give and to take so insane?

My eyes narrowed with each thought, confusion clouded my view,

My love did not deserve to die; I tasted bitterness as the hatred grew.

I glanced back at Ember, the glimmer of hope that she had brought,

Then I thought of Ira, and all the loathing, that she had wrought.

But still the pain persisted, these ghosts had occupied so much grief,

And in return, they had brought a mountain more pain, without relief.

 

When Peitho showed her face, I fell upon my knees and prayed,

She asked, “What would I give to restore my love; What would I trade?”

In my maddened state, my mind divided, plagued with death’s disease,

For I was ready to sell my wretched soul, to put my grieving mind at ease.

Until I realized, death’s door was sealed, there would be no deal made,

And Peitho couldn’t change the hand of fate, no matter what I paid.

For Peitho could not raise the dead, but seeded a hill of guilt to climb,

As I blamed myself for being unable to foresee, how to go back in time.

I went over the multitude of things, that I could have done instead,

Each thought became tangled, into another knot, within my head!

 

When Deirdre appeared, her face such a depressing sight to behold,

My heart sunk to the bottom of the sea, my mind began to fold.

Too weak to rise, too sad to think, the weight too much to bear,

I tried to speak my mind, to cry in pain, but only emptiness there!

My life without my love had become meaningless, as darkness grew,

Inside my mind Deirdre bred, an unwelcome stranger I never knew.

Where hope had been my salvation, the tone had changed to worse,

My mind in a dreadful state, set in a drowsy spell, an awful curse.

 

Then out of the darkness, first a tiny slither of light shone through,

Then my mind was restored, as renewed thoughts of hope grew.

A different ghost appeared, kinder than the rest, Harmony her name,

As she repaired the rift, the empty space that grief had claimed.

She taught me to face the truth, accept fate, to put aside the waste,

The grief that had possessed my mind, haunted my inner thought,

The hardship that the ghosts had brought, the lessons they had taught.

The journey was a thankless road with many twists and turns each day,

At journey’s end I cast my mind back, for I had learned along the way.

So many lessons that helped me to accept my loss, with thankfulness,

For if I had never loved at all, our love would never have been blessed.

 

Each time I close my eyes, the dream drifts much further away from me,

I fear my mind is drawing to a blank, like a ghostship swallowed by the sea.

The older I get, time erodes, with what has passed, the walls are closing in,

My heart is beating slower, thoughts out of tune, and sight is getting dim.

I still see my Esme, and feel her presence near, her watchful eye above,

One day I will ascend again, into the world of dreams to be, with my love.

Until that glorious moment, my love for Esme will never abate,

For within life and death; “Forever turns the twist of fate!”

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

MADNESS Insania Gignit Insaniam

 Madness breeds madness!

Madness

What sort of madness in minds that it consumes,

Dredging from the pit of badness, as it exhumes.

Then even more, mining much deeper for its cause,

Its appetite for evil that spreads, breeding wars.

From the masses where it brought about discontent,

Through pain and suffering forging its evil intent.

From malignant desire into an awful spiteful breed,

Desperate to pillage innocence, to meet its need.

Destroying the bonds of compassion and tenderness,

As it wrecked reason, sanity, and goodness in its quest.

That same madness found in the greed of wild Orcs.

Leaving a wasteland in devastation wherever it walks.

When madness comes to mess within your mind,

Will you submit to its wicked ways, give it your time?

Entertain its promises of wealth and fool’s gold,

Will you succumb to the empty lies it has told?

Or have you got the fortitude to send it on its way,

Before it corrupts your mind, leading you astray.

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

Who Sows the Seeds

 

Who Sows the Seeds

 

Once a wise old man thought, and thought, and thought,

He thought about all the wisdom that he had been taught.

The dreadful lessons of life, the hurt, and all the pain,

The awful people who had spread desolation and disdain.

 

He thought about all the stars above, within the universe,

The union between good and bad, for better, or worse.

The one who had sown the seeds of life that germinate,

And the mystical seeds of thought that in heads incubate.

 

The ones who sow the seeds of hope, of a utopia somewhere,

So, people can learn to live within a twisted world of despair.

The place where the masses can come together in the land of hope,

Where hope is an unanswered prayer, a badly tangled rope.

 

Whilst seeds of happiness live side by side with discontent,

So, people can convey a smiley face wherever they went.

Some preached of grand virtues, set to fight the seeds of sin,

Bound within every culture and religion, with a different spin.

 

And the heavenly seeds of sacrifice, of giving so much more,

Until they had to grieve the brave souls sent away to war.

The more he thought, the deeper he went into another sphere,

Far beyond the shallow pond, the tedious daily grind we hear.

 

He thought of thought, how other minds are bound to think,

Why they live and act the way they do, and how they keep in sync.

He put himself in the shoes of other people, just to understand,

Why things are the way they are in the wicked ways of man.

 

And then the old man paused and thought about the seeds he'd sown,

The ones that had brought happiness, and those he should have known.

Were some of them seeds of love, whilst others carried pain?

And if he had the chance to live, would he sow them all again?

 

Then suddenly the old man stopped and looked within,

And wondered what his own life's seeds had grown from deep within.

For some had blossomed beautifully, whilst others caused him pain,

And some had brought a harvest, whilst others grew like weeds again.

 

He thought about the seeds of love that he had sown along the way,

The words that brought some happiness, the kindnesses each day.

But then he thought of other seeds, the ones he wished undone,

The words that could not be recalled, the damage he had done.

 

And perhaps the greatest wisdom that his years had brought to him

Was knowing that the seeds we sow can flourish or grow dim.

For every seed we broadcast away may find a place to grow,

And where and what it becomes, we may never really know.

 

He looked upon the garden of the life that he had made,

At every little seed he'd sown, each memory it had laid.

Then quietly he wondered, as he looked towards the sun,

If he could sow his seeds again, which ones would he have done?

 

And now the old man turns away, and leaves the thought with you,

For only you can truly know the seeds that you have grew.

Look back upon the garden of the life that you have sown,

To the seeds which were good, and which you should have known.

 

Now you must ask yourself, within the honesty of your heart,

What seeds have you sown thru your life, right from the very start?

Were they seeds of kindness, love, compassion, hope and care,

Or seeds that left behind some pain, resentment and despair?

 

And when you look upon the garden that your life has grown,

Will you be proud of all the seeds that you have ever sown?

For every seed that we have cast may find a place to grow,

And only time can truly tell what harvest it will show.

 

So now the question passes on from him to you instead,

For every life is filled with seeds that we have left or spread.

 

Now you must ask yourself, within the honesty of your heart…

 

What type of seeds have I sown?

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

How

 

How

How do you scale the wall

That fortifies the soul?

How do you mend the broken mind,

And restore the beaten soul?

 

The heart that has never learned to love,

The spirit that has never risen,

The life that has never truly lived,

The eyes that have never seen the sunrise,

As dark clouds slowly drifted by.

 

How do you find the hope to bring

The songs the heart was meant to sing?

The voice that never learned to speak,

The inner voice that longs for sound.

 

How do you find the lost soul,

Lift the weight upon the mind,

Climb the mountain that brought you down,

Yet still believe you'll hear love's sound?

 

How do you teach a child to care,

When no one showed that love was there?

How do you fill an empty place

That years of silence could not erase?

 

Perhaps no wall is climbed at once,

No mountain conquered in a day.

When dawn first whispers through the dark

Before it drives the night away.

 

It starts with one kind word,

One gentle hand held out somehow.

The smallest seed can split the stone,

Within the silent heart, alone.

 

For every forest starts with seed,

Each sunrise wakes the waiting sky.

One act of love begins somehow,

Like morning breaking through the sky;

The sun that melts the winter snow,

Though none can tell us when or why.

 

A gentle word... a helping hand...

A kindness whispered from the heart;

Like spring that steals through winter's grasp,

Till frozen hopes at last depart,

 

Melting the ice that winter laid

Upon a heart so very young;

Until the silence finds its voice,

And softly sings,

 

"I am here. I always was."

Then, at last, the heart begins to sing.

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

Як

Як ви піднімаєтеся на стіну,

Що зміцнює душу?

Як вилікувати розбитий розум,

І відновити побиту душу?

Серце, яке ніколи не навчилося любити,

Дух, який ніколи не піднімався,

Життя, яке ніколи по-справжньому не жило,

Очі, які ніколи не бачили сходу сонця,

Коли темні хмари повільно пропливають повз.

Як ви знаходите надію, щоб принести

Пісні, які серце мало співати?

Голос, який ніколи не навчився говорити,

Внутрішній голос, який прагне звуку.

Як ви знаходите загублену душу,

Зніміть тягар з розуму,

Зійдете на гору, яка вас збила,

Але все ще вірите, що почуєте звук кохання?

Як ви навчите дитину піклуватися,

Коли ніхто не показав, що кохання є?

Як ви заповните порожнє місце,

Яке роки мовчання не могли стерти?

Можливо, жодна стіна не піднімається одразу,

Жодна гора не підкорюється за один день.

Коли світанок вперше шепоче крізь темряву

Перш ніж прожене ніч.

Він починається з одного доброго слова,

Однією ніжною рукою, якимось чином простягнутою.

Найменше зернятко може розколоти камінь,

У тихому серці, на самоті.

Бо кожен ліс починається з зернятка,

Кожен схід сонця будить небо, що чекає.

Один акт кохання починається якось,

Як ранок, що пробивається крізь небо;

Сонце, що тане зимовий сніг,

Хоча ніхто не може сказати нам, коли чи чому.

Ніжне слово... рука допомоги...

Доброта, прошепотіла з серця;

Як весна, що прокрадається крізь зимові лапи,

Поки замерзлі надії нарешті не зникнуть,

Таплячи лід, що поклала зима

На таке молоде серце;

Поки тиша не знайде свій голос,

І тихо не заспіває:

"Я тут. Я завжди був."

Тоді, нарешті, серце починає співати.

Another World

 

Another World

At night he wandered the silent streets that buzzed by day,

The doors all locked, while the other world was far away.

Gone to their soft cozy beds, as they slept, safe and secure,

In their dream worlds, lying in silk and satin sheets so pure.

Whilst through darkened streets, out of the shadows came,

The inhabitants of another world, cast in doubt and shame.

He saw them sleeping rough, in the world without respite,

By some strange force, drawn to the same spot every night.

They never complained, as he drifted past their living hell,

In shameful silence their souls caught under the same spell.

The wretched affliction, that had devoured their minds,

Leaving hollow ghosts, with hope shut tight behind blinds.

And as he looked deep down into their tormented souls,

He felt the awful pain of dejection, despair without resolve.

Living in deprivation, unsure what the next day will bring,

Locked deep inside their restless souls, that no longer sing.

While winter numbed their minds, to aimlessly drift alone,

The rain soaking their bones, poor souls without a home.

Abandoned by the cruel world, that scorned and shunned,

The one that treated its fallen people like wretched scum.

A world of rigid doctrines, calling its broken people flawed,

Shame upon self-made righteous, born in the image of God.

The eyes that choose to look away, mouths that cast scorn,

Forgetting "another world" once cradled Christ newborn.

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

And That Is the Face of Art

 

And That Is the Face of Art

We are the spectators; we watch in wonder, each image framed,

In the spectrum of light, the multitude of colours skilfully tamed.

Our breath is taken, held in awe, at the spectacular panoramas portrayed,

The blend of colours in space, the brush strokes so masterfully overlaid.

 

Yet we are left to wonder who paints the storms and hurricanes,

The untamed wonderlands, wild horses breaking their chains.

Rage cast in thunderclouds, as tears wash colour from the eye,

The taste of emotion etched within the sun setting from the sky.

 

Day by day, over and over again, layer upon layer intently laid,

Never sleeping, as the Maestro follows every shifting ray.

Each master stroke of the brush into vibrant colours dispersed,

At night highlighting stars and planets throughout the universe.

 

Colour following the wild waves, the tides, the winds of change,

Season upon season, layer upon layer, each colour rearranged.

When summer burns, and autumn's orange turns to crimson red,

Then in winter's frost and fog, with snowdrifts, a blanketing bed.

 

Each hurricane painting ephemeral art, attentively transposed,

The debris in explicit detail, a masterclass so artfully composed.

Every subject perfectly placed in landscape, as a seamless array,

The Master of Art never stops painting, throughout night and day.

 

Phase upon phase, creating each masterpiece, we watch in awe,

Unforgotten moments, ever constant cues wherever we may go.

Each scene evolving, silhouettes generated, long shadows laid,

Painting each stroke of day, another masterclass in art conveyed.

 

Cleverly diffusing, catching the sun as it bathes upon the beach,

And rocky silhouettes, as it dances high upon the mountain peaks.

Painting the most beautiful sunrise ever seen, between sky and sea,

As the gull’s circle upon the rising ocean breeze, so wild and free.

 

Following the sun across the sky, every stroke of colour to the west,

Blending the colours of the spectrum into fauna and flora's best.

The Master producing evocative tender hues and subtle tones,

Long before and long after we are gone, through eternity He roams.

 

The diversity of conception, rendered images passing before the eye,

The sun in its radiant colours cast, evoking every element of life.

Illuminating creation as luminescence of light concentrates through space,

Light diffusing a thousand ways, with texture and tone in every place.

 

The fog that floats so close to the ground, viewed from hills above,

In harmony imagines paradise, created with all the Painter's love.

As we walk through life, scene to scene, our minds utterly amazed,

Too much to comprehend, the eternal exhibition seen, then erased.

 

Beware the blush of beauty captured in the red velvet rose adored,

So delicate, yet its unforgiving thorns an agonising lesson implored.

On stone walls, or cliff faces, that is the face of art beyond compare,

The complex shapes of leaves and trees, every pixel placed with flair.

 

Yet still we stand as spectators before each gallery of the day,

Watching living masterpieces born, then gently fade away.

No canvas can contain them, no museum house them all,

For every dawn unveils another work, each sunset hears its call.

 

The Painter signs no corner, no mortal hand can trace His art,

Yet every living creature bears the imprint of His heart.

Each fleeting scene a masterpiece no human hand could ever chart—

Creation is the canvas... And that is the Face of Art.

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