No Answer to the Orphans Prayer

 

No Answer to the Orphans Prayer

The sudden blast, a shockwave knocking them back, the fatal blow,

His head hurting, ears loudly ringing, body tremors, acute vertigo.

Slowly gaining mindfulness, he stands, eyes searching for his mum,

There she lies bleeding, unresponsive, motionless, her body numb.

As confusion sets in, consuming him, his broken mind left dazed,

So much smaller now, the biggest part gone, the explosion erased.

His mother in absentia, her loving soul, suddenly wrenched away,

Now left with the cold embrace, of crushing sadness, life as a stray.

Lost in a broken heart, such an empty place, with nowhere to turn,

Searching inside, his little soul, feeling the sadness, that really burns.

Struggling to understand, impact of loss, the attention mother paid,

He cannot comprehend, too much to grasp, in disbelief, and afraid.

Left with desolation, and grief, unable to repair, the gaping hole,

Now absolutely shattered, sadness welling, ripping at his tiny soul.

In shock, he is too distressed to cry, as shock of remoteness, sets in,

Suspended in time, lost in the wreckage, of the sirens dreadful din.

Fixed to the spot, awaiting her return, the comfort of her embrace,

To lift him up, and together, take him away from this terrible place.

With his eyes closed, his mind struggling, to conjure her back again,

Alas, his silent prayer in vain, now another lost orphan, of Ukraine.

Written By: Alan.Clark@WW1POET (May 2023)

His Sickness Grows

 

His Sickness Grows

Each day, in pursuit of desolation, while ruining the lives of others,

Oh, the pleasure he gets, killing little children, and helpless mothers.

The genocide, a step too far, the hate that he has spread, too much,

Abundant misery, by his hand, so many have suffered, his evil touch.

The list of despicable crimes, that he has perpetrated, is overflowing.

A cloud of hatred, hanging over his odious head, constantly growing.

He is the Devil’s advocate, a scourge upon mankind, in Satan’s hand,

Protected by his loyal supporters, the homicidal cult, his brutal band.

Plotting the sadistic acts, executing more, and more, despicable pain,

Longing, his love to see, the face of terror, on survivors who remain.

His insatiable appetite, is seeing others suffer, people full of dread,

At the hands of his vile monsters, all the wicked Orcs, he has bred.

So content, to be the instrument of hurt, lives turned upside down,

As the ones they love the most, are sadly laid to rest, in the ground.

No respect, his heart so numb, sadism running rampant, in his veins,

There is no compassion, guilt, or remorse, where his brutality reigns.

He hears voices, in his head, as they call for more, he has no shame,

Hell bent, his daily fix, the call of death, the demons he cannot tame.

The road he has chosen, will end in certain death, he cannot retire,

He has made too many enemies, pushed his psychosis, to the wire.

Still the craving continues, totally addicted, in hedonistic pleasure,

With sickness, in his stricken mind, bound to his psychopathic tether.

So detached, from reality, far removed, like a spectator looking down,

No longer worthy, of the vacant throne, he will never wear the crown.

His voices in another dimension, his delusions in an alternate domain,

The lies that he lives, his demented gratification, that fuels all the pain

Written By: Alan.Clark@WW1POET (May 2023)

To His Bitter End

 

To His Bitter End

Like so many before, his fate is sealed, to the end, in such bitterness fought,

His rage bred within, the wicked ferment of crimes, in hatred sorely bought.

As the truth is denied, rendered down, and twisted, into each deceitful lie,

And all honesty is drowned, in animosity, cascading down, out of the sky.

Lies built on lies, like tiny streams growing, to become raging rivers bound,

As each storm, is fed by political acrimony, flowing out of darkness found.

With resentment incubating, within each mind, creating ill-founded thought,

Of empty illusions, hope bringing certain death, so numb, in malice caught.

As he raises large armies, fueled by fanciful heroic dreams, to perish in vain,

His wealth paid full, in pain, and heartache, the misery of others, obtained.

His kingdom built on fear, the unquenchable thirst, while he lusts for more,

And less, less for those who suffer, his Orc soldiers, bred for each brutal war.

Still the storm does not abate, as each gust suckles, on the blood of others,

His corrupt regime, burdened with short life, by the state of factory mothers.

Money for guns, while the citizens starve, their sorry lives not worth living,

Milked of everything they can give, forced into the miserable state of giving.

Living in squaller, while the wealthy live, in their parallel state, often cursed,

In the soft underbelly, growing fatter and fatter, their bubble sure to burst.

Certain to be devoured, ravaged by the persistent worms, that he has bred,

As freedoms lion roars, and fate wins the war, victory erasing all the dread.

And history resets, then the resolutions begin to flow, for all conflict to end,

The thought of which, leaving a bitter taste, to his horrid legacy condemned.

Written By: Alan.Clark@WW1POET (May 2024)

In Putin Scorned

 

In Putin Scorned

The burden of Gods wrath, shalt be upon his back, forever gotten,

His awful sins, too heinous to forgive, his heart and soul, so rotten.

The wars, that he hath waged, the lives that he has had stolen, too,

The loathsome deeds, too much, to absolve, his sentence, overdue.

The haunting images, of his evil acts, an eternal blight upon his time,

The wanton slaughter, of innocence, in essence, his greatest crime.

All the precious kids, whose souls were wrenched, then cast aside,

In misery, each mother’s bond, of love, that was painfully denied.

Within the carnage, that he hath wrought, he will find no escape,

His repulsive legacy cannot be erased, nor can he shift his shape.

For in the blame, there is no doubt, where it lies, to him all shame,

With his ardent supporters, their putrid hearts, blackened the same.

His evil one-eyed clones, and beastly Orcs, shall never be forgotten,

Nor their offspring exempt, within the life, they have been begotten.

With inheritance, legacy of their fathers, generations genes before,

History constantly repeated, DNA seeding, the eternal thirst for war.

They shall not rest, even when they are erased, no grave too deep,

Forever plagued, haunted within, the evil company, that they keep.

Written By: Alan.Clark@WW1POET (May2024)

Stone the Hooded Crows

 

Stone the Hooded Crows

Stone the dreadful Hooded Crows, and their terrible Orcs, from the northeast,

Born in the soft underbelly of madness, breeding all of Putin’s dreadful beasts.

His two-faced politicians, vigorously pontificating, content to conceal the truth,

From the world, all the crimes they commit, explicitly denying, nail and tooth.

Sad, expressionless creatures, with twisted minds, and resentment of the West,

Deceitfulness lurking within each form, behind the blank masks, that we detest.

In deficiency, the state has erased emotion, in coldness bred, that empty stare,

Taken kindness, compassion, empathy, sympathy, and taught them not to care.

So uniform, with insipid countenance cast, upon each face, rotten to the core,

Driven by, an unquenchable thirst, an evil force, as the Crows crave for more.

Like zombies, programmed to spew, standard party lines, from their pit of lies,

Their treachery driven, by an eternal hatred; their motives covertly disguised.

While their Orc beasts execute, an array of unspeakable wrongs, against man,

In their top-secret cells, strategists, and tacticians, plot each ill-conceived plan.

Hell bent, to spread discontent, and sadness, their plagues around the world,

The malevolent wraiths, and evil spirits, from Pandora’s box, in hate unfurled.

Upon villages, and towns, destroying great cities, leaving misery in their wake,

As the evil Orcs, pick each carcass clean, pilfering everything, that they can take.

While the Hooded Crows, flock together, claiming the spoils, of their bitter wars,

Annexing new regions, installing Russian puppets, sympathetic to Putin’s cause.

The world has already borne witness, to this awful plague, so many times before,

Now it shudders, and reals, from the carnage, as it prepares to face a larger war.

Written By: Alan.Clark@WW1POET (May 2024)

In a World Full of Orcs

 

In a World Full of Orcs

Where the call to war resounds, over and again, its propaganda installed,

By duty bound, all sacrificial lambs, for the regime, into allegiance called.

Where all thought is uniform, and alternate views, are prohibited, benign,

And children groomed, from the cradle to the grave, with war enshrined.

Then one day, they come of age, yet in the eyes of many, much too young,

Before the age, of insightful wisdom, yet strong enough, to brandish a gun.

Each raw recruit, from the age of innocence, who could predict the worst,

Out for heroic adventures, with the bubble of adolescence, certain to burst.

Strutting in their uniforms, marching up, and down, soldiers out on parade,

Oh, the glorious thoughts, wherein the foundations, for war have been laid.

Such pride inside, like never before, now the envy of their unsigned mates,

Sights set, their romantic dreams about to falter, where first blood awaits.

Soldier boys, sodomized, and brutalized, in this wicked Orc army perverted,

By desperate convicts, who have traded prison time, for absolution inverted.

In a dangerous bid for freedom, a second chance, or become cannon fodder,

A risk, that they are forced to take, fighting for the cause, as a bullet stopper.

With no surrender, no turning back, no retreat, no way forward, no way out,

Forced to fight for their lives, guns aimed at their backs, should they bailout.

Drunken soldiers, who have learned their fate, despised by the army brass,

Waiting to be sent forward, into no-man’s-land, where their time will pass.

As decoys for the big guns, to draw enemy fire, lined up like ducks in a row,

Where all life is consumed, like popcorn and candy floss, at Putin’s sideshow.

His circus, going round for round, protracted, prolonged, in his bloody war,

As each roller coaster ride ends, in a bloody mess, his fair calling for more.

All perish the thought, that his regime might win, each battle along the way,

With the world destroyed, and overrun, with unruly Orcs! Oh, perish the day!

Written By: Alan.Clark@WW1POET (April 2024)

In the Aftermath

 

In the Aftermath

As each battle takes charge, stripping goodness, and beauty away,

Good souls there torn, of their tender love, in the most brutal way.

Exposed to desolation, of distress stained, upon the baren ground,

Where once, nature unspoiled, used to frolic, with tenderness found.

Burned in the flames, of hell on earth, fragments inflamed, and raw,

The sockets accosted; unsightly visions imprinted on the face of war.

Fate fixed, in the wasteland, now wearing the scares, gouged deep,

While each wave of soldiers, moves forward, and lives come cheap.

Between each wave, a vacuum drawn, as the next wave is primed,

The munitions replenished, soldiers replaced, new orders assigned.

Amid each frightening attack, the aftermath beginning over again,

Counting the dreadful cost, resetting each badly shattered brain.

Clearing the dust, casting unwelcome debris away, grief must wait,

There is no time, there to abide in the past, no chance to hesitate.

No aching for, the way things were, before the cruel war came along,

Inverting all things good, burning and blistering, the world to wrong.

For now, it is, bury the dead, pay respect, on behalf of those bereft,

Put on another brave face, and forge on ahead, with what life is left.

Fleeting memories suppressed, all other thought vehemently blocked,

Minds stunned, and dazed, brains badly shaken, and heads halfcocked.

Caught in war, respite is short lived, as death indeed, pursues its prey,

Driven by the heartless thief, with more sorrow and pain, on its way.

Written By: Alan.Clark@WW1POET (April 2024)