The Road That Led Me Home

 

The Road That Led Me Home

I met an old man walking slow beside the road,

He smiled tried to sell me lies to lighten my load.

“Your brother passed the gates not long ago,”

He winked and said, “They let him swiftly go.”

Still wrapped in echoes none but I had known,

Still in my cloak of guilt, I walked alone.

 

A merchant stood beside the dusty way,

And weighed men’s souls as though they were his pay.

He whispered softly, “Gold will buy your peace,”

Yet truth and mercy he refused to release.

His laughter faded where the wind had blown,

Still in my cloak of guilt, I walked alone.

 

A painted lady leaned beside the track,

She smiled and said, “Why carry burdens back?”

Her voice was sweet, yet emptiness was there,

A hollow promise drifting through the air.

I left her where the broken roses lay,

Still in my cloak of guilt, I walked away.

 

A thin man watched the road with bitter eyes,

He cursed the joy of those who reached the skies.

A blind man mocked the cloak that I had worn,

“A garment stitched from guilt since you were born.”

They laughed and hissed, their voices sharp as stone,

Still in my cloak of guilt, I walked alone.

 

A silent crowd stood watching by the gate,

Their eyes were cold with indifference and hate.

When I arrived, the gates were barred and high,

I cried in vain; they hissed, “Go, begone, or die.”

I named each sin I carried deep inside,

Yet still the gates refused to open wide.

 

Then from above a shadow spoke to me,

A cloaked stranger appearing mysteriously.

He said, “Those men who stole your youth confessed,

Their wicked boasts revealed the bitter test.”

“They bragged of all the harm that they had done,

The broken child they mocked and overrun.”

He knew the truth I could not yet explain,

That guilt I bore had never been my stain.

 

I turned and left the gates along the road,

Past him who sells deceit and hollow load.

The mountain path was rough beneath my feet,

Yet every step made distant echoes weak.

 

Then Pride appeared where jagged stones were cast,

And mocked the timid child that had stood fast.

“I am your measure!” he declared in scorn,

But I had grown beyond the wounds of morn.

 

Envy rose next and whispered in my ear,

“I gave you hope, then stole it — insincere.”

Yet hope once lost can rise and shine anew,

Its light now guided every breath I drew.

 

Wrath hurled his stones with rage along the track,

He roared that all had failed to hold me back.

But pain had built a wall no rock could breach,

The fury flew, and yet it could not reach.

 

The night grew deep along the mountain way,

Old doubts returned with things they used to say.

The voice of guilt still whispered in my head,

The cruel old words the mocking children said.

 

Then far beyond the ridge a star appeared,

A gentle light that calmed the doubts I feared.

It shone with warmth I somehow seemed to know,

A distant memory from long ago.

And as I climbed beneath the quiet skies,

I saw the child reflected in its rise.

The wounded soul they tried to cast aside

Had kept a flame of truth alive inside.

 

The old man waited where the road grew thin,

The same sly smile still curling on his chin.

“You’ve travelled far,” he said, “but still beware,

The gates of peace may close when you are there.”

But now I saw the truth beyond his eyes,

He lived and breathed by trading only lies.

I took his words and cast them in the pit,

Where hollow fears and broken echoes sit.

His shape grew thin, like smoke before the wind,

For lies cannot endure where truth has settled in.

 

I reached the ridge where dawn began to rise,

And felt no cloak of guilt before the skies.

The star dissolved in morning’s golden air,

And love itself stood waiting for me there.

No shadow now could touch my soul within,

The child survived — the light that led me in.

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

The Price of Innocence

 

The Price of Innocence

Through vulnerable eyes, she was innocent

Her purity was plucked; her mind was bent.

She was drugged and drowned in alcohol,

Falsely induced, forced to pay Satan’s toll.

By unconscionable predators, so depraved,

The iniquitous deeds of the badly behaved.

Letting loose their desire upon the young,

In lustful acts, gone her innocence unsung.

By the predators who traded gullible teens,

Into the underworld of their wicked dreams.

Lust feeding the hunger of depraved minds,

The awful disease in the worst of mankind.

So many innocent lambs sent to slaughter,

Revolting men abusing someone’s daughter.

Kids stolen and trafficked round the world,

With the venom of deceitfulness unfurled.

Resetting the baseline, to integrity inverted,

Pure naivety stolen by sick minds perverted.

Depraved men engrossed within the ride,

Now dodging the shame of truth, they hide.

Their moral compasses pointing due south,

Drowning in the litany of lies they espouse.

With the awful truth hidden and disguised,

The fearsome scum of the earth despised.

The evidence being erased without reason,

Sex slaves abused by the ungodly heathen.

Victims left the burden of another’s shame,

As cowards hide, afraid to speak their name.

We mourn adolescence lost, laughter taken,

The trust cleft, lives upended and shaken.

Where are the predators now hidden within,

When will they stand trial for all of their sins?

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

 

Stone Cold ICE

In remembrance of Renee Good and Alex Pretti

Stone Cold ICE

I stared into its stoney eyes, in disguise, a world distorted,

Where dreams of humanity were being badly thwarted.

In the gaze I lost my way, cast amidst the disenchanted,

Descending into the state of hatred that had been planted.

In place of warmth, and harmony, an awful ugliness grew,

From a cold unpleasant state of mind, that I never knew.

There the madness of men dwelt, with hardened hearts,

Casting their callous minds adrift, their sallow souls apart.

With revolting ideology lodged within an alternate space,

Where love of friendship, and compassion, held no place.

Their awful reign of terror spawned by brains unhinged,

The state of lawlessness generated by a malignant fringe.

The vile old man who ranted and raved a load of dribble,

The sickening stain upon the nation from his acrid piddle.

Men in masks, no name, no face, pepper spray, and guns,

Intolerant bigots badly bred, Proud Boys and Satan’s sons.

What do they see, what outrageous shame, do they hide,

With the hatred and intolerance that they harbour inside.

The clans of unscrupulous felons, committing executions,

The beastly scum of the earth, breaching the constitution.

Targeting American citizens born of colour, that they see,

Snatching defenseless women, and kids, in their evil spree.

Leaving them bruised, battered, abandoned by the way,

Dropped in parks and strange places, bloodied and dazed.

Committing coldblooded public executions in city streets,

Their lawless intimidation casting shame upon the police.

The countenance of destruction their malevolent measure,

The wicked hand of hate crimes their repugnant pleasure.

With no conscience embraced, within their wickedness,

And yes, I felt the wrath of their ill-tempered stoniness.

Toward innocent people packed in dirty prison camp sites,

Incarcerated on trumped up pretexts, against their rights.

I lamented to the abhorrent sins that ICE had transgressed,

For their aim to create a world of lost souls and oppressed.

Through its narrow eyes, ICE despised so many people good,

Destroying social order where other cultural values stood.

Casting a world full of desolation and shattered dreams,

Forcing people into submission like bygone cruel regimes.

Bound by fear that fed the merciless inferno with the dead,

With its brazen sickness lusting for innocence as it spread.

Twisting, writhing, deforming, leaving waste in its wake,

Destroying people’s lives, families, creating heartache.

I saw through its evilness, the clouds of smoke screens,

To the future, to a shattered world, of ruthless extremes.

And as the sun set, to mark the final days that dawned,

Nothing was left but brokenness and innocence scorned.

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

The Christmas Fairy’s Grand Ballet

 

“The Christmas Fairy’s Grand Ballet”

 

Oh, Christmas tree stood tall and wide,

Your ornaments gleam side by side;

Glass balls, stars, and velvet bows,

Candy canes in perfect rows.

Strings of beads and pearls hang near,

Tiny metal balls glint clear;

Lace drapes softly on frosted pine,

Gold and silver threads entwine.

 

Perched upon a branch so high,

A tiny fairy catches her eye;

Wings of gossamer, wand in hand,

She glimmers softly, bright, and grand.

"Little girl," she whispers near,

"Tonight, your Christmas gown appears;

With pearls and lace, with gold and thread,

A tree-shaped dress upon you spread."

 

The little girl stares, breath held tight,

Her heart aglow with pure delight;

A quiet sparkle draws her near,

And tingles whisper, soft and clear.

 

“Do not touch the tree, little girl!”

Her mother’s voice rings firm and clear;

“Just look, admire, but hands must stay,

The decorations are for display.”

The child nods, though eyes remain

Fixed on the fairy on the main;

A tiny heartbeat, soft and clear,

Hints at the magic soon to appear.

 

Her mother leaves, the room grows still,

The fairy flutters at her will;

"Awake, my friends, and dance with glee,

Bring life to the Christmas tree!"

With a wave of her silver wand,

Baubles, beads, and pearls respond;

Threads of lace and ribbons spin,

The Christmas show is set to begin.

 

The drummer boy is first awake,

He taps a rhythm, soft to make;

The little girl takes hands with him,

They spin and twirl in candle dim.

Around the room she leaps with glee,

The very first to dance, set free;

Each tap of drum, a heartbeat near,

Her gown begins to shimmer clear.

 

Snowman then hops to join the dance,

He twirls the girl in playful prance;

His carrot nose and buttons bright,

Reflect the tree’s soft twinkling light.

He dips, he spins, a cheerful cheer,

Then back to branch, the path made clear;

The little girl laughs, her dress expands,

Each step infused with magic hands.

 

Gingerbread man leads her in leaps,

Sweet spice and sugar through her twirls creeps;

He hops and twirls, a joyful swirl,

Around her skirts, a candy whirl.

The little girl spins, lifted high,

Velvet bows float, ribbons fly;

Then back he bounds, a bowing friend,

The fairy nods, “Your gown ascends.”

 

Velvet reindeer prance, red-nosed,

Lightly whirling her across, enclosed;

Antlers curve, brushing gently near,

Adding sparkle to her flowing gear.

They dance around, then take their leave,

Back to the tree, a bow to weave;

Her dress grows fuller, tree-like, tall,

A princess clothed in Christmas thrall.

 

Nutcracker drummer joins the beat,

Guiding her dancing, light and fleet;

She twirls and spins, then leaps in place,

A shining smile upon her face.

Then ballerina joins in turn,

Ribbons wrap her, silk to burn;

They spin and dip, then back to tree,

The gown expands, a jubilee.

 

Angels float and tiny stars,

Icicles, snowflakes, danced from afar;

Chocolate foil and paper stars,

Twirl around her like magic jars.

Each element a shimmering thread,

Pearls and beads, gold threads are spread;

The little girl spins, light as air,

The room a world beyond compare.

 

Candy canes, teddy bears, and sweets,

Join the dance with jingling beats;

Every decoration takes its turn,

Whirling her lightly as they churn.

The lounge becomes a glittering floor,

Tiny bells and laughter soar;

The drummer boy keeps steady time,

The room a live, enchanted rhyme.

 

A sudden creak! A door draws near,

The mother’s footsteps now appear;

The music halts, the dancers freeze,

Then, with a flutter, all with ease:

Back to branches, every one,

The magic paused, the dance is done.

Snowman, reindeer, bauble, and bow,

Return to tree, all in a row.

 

The lounge grows still, the tree stands tall,

Not a whisper, not a move at all;

But in the branch where fairy sat,

A twinkle lingers—this and that.

She winks at the girl, a secret gleam,

A sparkle left from the dancing dream;

The princess smiles, her heart alight,

Christmas magic safe tonight.

 

Written By: Alan.Clark@WW1POET (November 2025)

The Christmas Trees in Morrinsville

 

The Christmas Trees in Morrinsville

In Morrinsville on Christmas Eve,
The child he was still dares believe,
He watches through the chilly air,
As daylight fades — the streets lie bare.

The Art Gallery gleams,
Each window hums of festive dreams,
He’s seen the trees brought one by one,
Their tinsel blazing with the sun.

He lies upon the bench outside,
No hearth, no home, no place to hide,
His stomach aches, the day’s been long,
As Ruru starts his mournful song.

The hunger hums, the shadows creep,
His eyelids fall — he drifts to sleep,
And in that drift, his heart takes flight,
To childhood dreams of Christmas night.

He smells the spruce, the frosted pine,
(Though summer scents the warm night fine),
The paper crackers pop! and bang!
While children’s laughter softly sang.

Show stoppers glint, the toppers glow,
Glass balls and stars in golden row,
Velvet butterflies take flight,
And bells and bows adorn the night.

Icicles shaped from crystal glass,
Catch streetlights as the dreaming’s pass,
Gingerbread men and candy canes,
And sweets that dance through windowpanes.

Chocolate wrapped in foil bright,
He tastes within his dream’s delight,
While angels hover, soft and low,
And reindeer prance in candle glow.

Five-pointed stars in silver gleam,
He drifts within his yuletide dream,
Snowmen grin in hats of red,
Though none have graced this summer yet.

Streamers wave, the lanterns glow,
Bambi dear in gentle show,
Nativity scenes, a fairy’s wand,
Recall the home to which he’s fond.

The town grows still, the lights grow dim,
A distant choir lifts its hymn,
He sleeps where golden shadows fade,
And peace wraps round the dreams he made.

Then morning breaks — Town Siren’s cry,
Cuts through the blue December sky,
The streets lie quiet, the air is still,
It’s Christmas Day in Morrinsville.

Some early walkers, passing near,
Stop by the bench and feel a tear,
“Come home with us, without delay,
No one should wake alone today.”

He follows slow, his spirit stirred,
By kindness found in one kind word,
They feed his heart, his hunger gone,
And sunlight crowns the dreaming on.

For though the years had worn him thin,
The Christmas dream still burned within,
And Morrinsville, beneath the sun,
Proved love and hope can still be one.

Written By: Alan.Clark@WW1POET (Nov 2025)

Lost Child of War

 The longer version. Written By: Alan.Clark@WW1POET

Lost Child of War
Happy child, the world was yours,
swathed in love and happiness.
You wandered where the skylark soars,
your laughter born of gentleness.

 

Your heart was pure, your spirit free,
you sang to skies of endless blue.
You danced with butterflies in glee,
‘midst blooms that kissed the morning dew.

 

Through meadows bright and fragrant air,
you chased the sun, its golden flame.
Each day a dream, beyond despair,
a world untouched by sorrow’s name.

 

When winter came with gentle chill,
your mother’s arms became your keep.
Safe from the storm, you lingered still,
wrapped warm in love, you fell to sleep.

Then came a sound no soul foresaw,
a scream that split the morning sky.
The heavens cracked, the earth in awe,
as dreams were crushed and forced to die.

 

The world imploded—hearts were torn,
the light of love to darkness cast.
All innocence, once softly born,
was buried in the thunder’s blast.

The sky turned red, the ground grew wild,
her small hands reached for air, for grace.
The world she knew—a weeping child,
now smoke and ruin took its place.

 

She called for those she could not find,
her voice a thread in choking dust.
It echoed deafness, cold, unkind,
as walls collapsed and dreams were crushed.

 

Through shattered glass the daylight bled,
the silenced cries replaced her song.
The scent of fear, of fire, of dread—
the child of joy, where had she gone?

Her breath grew soft, her heartbeat slow,
the din of war began to fade.
A lullaby the ashes know,
sang low where innocence was laid.

 

Her gaze turned within, to depart,
as if she saw beyond the flame.
A whisper left her fragile heart—
one final sigh, one whispered name.

Above her stillness, wings grew weak,

the guardian wept through ashen air.

He tried to sing, yet could not speak,

to spare the grief no soul should bear.

 

Too young to know of rage or war,

she never learned what vengeance means.

Her heart was pure, untouched by gore,

unsullied by the wicked schemes.

 

He knew he could not mend her pain,

nor stitch the broken threads of light.

No prayer could breathe her life again,

no hand restore the vanished sight.

 

Beneath his fallen star he knelt,

his tears like rain on scorched remains.

He wept for all the pain she felt,

for shattered worlds and love’s lost chains.

 

The ones who brought such death to light

knew not her name, nor cared at all.

Their souls long severed from the right,

blind to the lives they’d see to fall.

 

He whispered prayers the winds would keep,

to guard her rest where angels roam,

and vowed through time, though heaven weep,

her soul would find its way back home.

Below, the world turned on, unaware,
the smoke still rose, the sirens cried.
No time to mourn, no pause, no prayer—
the living pressed, the lost denied.

 

The toys lay strewn, the garden scarred,
a doll’s face stained with ash and grime;
her laughter stilled, her memory marred,
forgotten soon by march of time.