Treading Into Serenity

The storm has been brewing since late last night.
No more do we stand in a cracked dust bowl of dirt,
...for it is covered in tears like manna from Heaven.

Long was our vigil, our prayers we thought sent for naught?
At last they seem to have been answered.

Brown leaves are now carried down the asphalt river.
First dwindling – then vanishing into the darkness...
...that strides the river edge.

Strange how even now one can get used to a noise.
At first all you can hear is its all encompassing nature.
Then you start to filter it out as the calmness surrounds you...
... and you tread into the storm.


Stealth has failed me here in this jungle of doubts.
It seems that all notice my passing, yet...
...none dare intervene to save my soul.

I have been cast out into a clearing for all to see,
the expectations are merry for they crave the fall...
...I plan to disappoint them.

Many a moon has risen over what will be my grave, yet...
...this is not yet the day that it shall be filled.

Sounds start returning to my senses.
It seems the jungle has taken stock and...
...decided to move on with its own cycles.

The bright sunlight streams through the canopy above,
the wind rustles the grass at my feet...
...I dare not move for I feel the eyes still searching.

In and out the gaze of persecution I seem to be...
...caught - transfixed within this moment of awareness.

Your Wedding Day

To my sister on her wedding day,
No longer are you a miss,
But you'll always be my small sis,
I have no tease to utter in jest,
for i feel dad's guarding eye on you today.

To my new brother on his wedding day,
welcome to our family, one of us you are today,
stewardship of our most precious jewel you have,
protect her, stand firm and always remember,
together you can overcome all in your path.

To the happy couple on their wedding day,
be honest with each other, laugh often,
and never forget how amazing this day is,
the start of your life's true intent!

They say true love shines bright, and today... dazzle us with your light.

The furious fracas

Walking down the beach hand in hand
Our eyes never lifting to the horizon
Moonlight lapping every step
Angels twirling in the waves
Nowhere to go we march into the night.

Vacant the intent hearts entwine
Easily our thoughts betray intentions
Resting in the soft sand
Silently staring into each other’s eyes
Understanding comes and the lyrics matter not
Stalking each other, fingers become entangled.

Made in heaven, hellish in nature
Another morning sun rises, yet…
…None will recall the furious fracas.

Silent like the prey.

We will not stand for this affront.
Once more we run out into the night.
Stealth has come into the den.
Our house has been defouled.

Brazen the theft, for are we not gods?
Never a last fight would we know.
We are to be feared...
...yet it has stolen from us.

To deny one of us is to deny all.
Alive with death the night consumes.
Our young smell the fear.
So strong the stench we can not forget.

Our will is not weak,it is the stronger.
Our tread is not slow, it is the faster.
Silent like the hunted prey...
...We will avenge our own.

The Cold Dark Pit

The warrior grieved for the loss of his life;
for surely the situation appeared to be most dreadful.
In lieu of honour, denied glory and legacy;
his was a need that few would have predicted.

Like the discontents of the past he had silently marched;
onwards in mass toward surely a just resolution.
Strange and unfathomable the cosmos must be;
since patently he finds his wrecked body not on battlefield…
…but crouched in a concrete-frozen old well.

There seems no exit from this hellish nightmare;
calls for help go unanswered into the night.
His thoughts stray to how this came about;
yet memories seem to have abandoned him to his misery.

Perhaps some would give up, he has not the choice;
for in the darkness he can hear his fellows movements.
The never-ending march is underway and he is to be left behind;
do none miss his presence, his stoic bearing, his being?...
…or are they in ecstasy to this event, gleeful in their delight?

His dwelling that night made resolute, the quietude hardened resolve;
unique solitary, within the masses, has brought his clarity of thought about…
…as slowly upwards the lone warrior climbs once more. 

The absent vagrant

Educated beyond what once was mere mortal and now all but husk.
The last of his kind he is not, yet none would claim him now.
Substance of the defeated few would dare approach what once was proud.
Worst fear seemingly truth, he plodders onward in search of hope.

Who would dare to guess the intellect hidden beyond glazed despair?
To look at him was not possible, for none can see what they despise.
Misery is now his constant companion; loneliness consuming his heart.
Worst fear becoming truth, he lengthens his stride in search of hope.

Steps taken ostensibly in certainty now glare in glee at his deceit.
If one was to scrape of the crust no answers would be found.
The prestige now gone, the honour consumed the loneliness profound.
Worst fear now truth, no more steps are taken in false hope. 

The Strange One's

A siren loud and clear, yelling its riddle for all to decipher… was adding to the initial confusion after the fire-fight… a round ball fell from eight fingered hand, spinning and glowing on the floor, a strange beeping sound starting to emanate from it… almost as if warning all around that they had precious little time left over. 

A monitor flickered on overhead, cracked and only showing a partial image of the deathly scene, a wonder it had survived the fire-fight still working even though it had lost all its audio, it mattered not, for he knew that the closed circuit cameras mounted in the walls would still be broadcasting the image to those outside and beyond, breathlessly being narrated by anchors and field journalists, capturing the end of life as we knew it for all to see; as two leaders lay at the feet of a few, casting the fate of billions in the balance. 

One was dead; the other bleeding but still breathing with difficulty. True irony it was, that the he was one of two people still left standing, when seconds previously there was so many. Picking up the gun that was dropped as fire fight first started, he walked over to the Alekui Leader… raised his arm… aimed… and with two bullets killed him. An act of mercy in his eyes… cold murder in another’s. 

It was an odd day that sealed his destiny after all, to kill one not from his world, for after what seemed like months of no rain, he had awoken to a cloud filled sky that morning, which now was drenching those still outside with tears of rain, as one who was elected to lead… instead chose to bend knee in the heart of his nation… the infamous Oval Office. In some places the President would surely have been killed on the spot for this act, but it seemed he cared not… perhaps the President had known this was to be his fate regardless of what transpired hereafter. 

Now standing over the bodies of both leaders, the man known as Conner knew that he had just rung the death-siren that would kill countless many others… in the hope of saving a few. If his life’s tale was ever told, some would praise him, most would loath him, strange how none that came after would know his face he thought, for he could see only his silhouette was broadcast on the monitor, yet his name he knew would be made infamous, used as a curse, in the eyes of all who come after… it was to be a cruel anecdote to his life story spent in the defence of others. 

Yet all that mattered now was that he had bought the time needed – to inspire a few to stand up and fight for their right to live free, a right bought over countless eons. Perhaps his wife and son would be one of these few, he would never know. His last bullets already spent – defending his world, he feared more would have to do the same before the end was in sight… Turning to the microphone on the President’s desk he utters “I love you Alisha, protect our son!” as the lone surviving Alekui came walking slowly towards him… a glint of steel in his hand, showing a stony face, yet with fire of ill intent in eyes. 

Chapter 1
It was time to move on. The Elders knew that the strange one’s would come back once morning came, they said it was our destiny to prepare, to hide whilst others were made slaves, for we had to make preparations for the coming prophecy, ‘the will of ages’, to learn the ways of the past in order to fight the final battle that would either free us, destroy us or worse enslave us once and for all.

None now knew why these strange one’s… these Alekui, had initially come to our world. Most believed it was to take our resources, our minerals, water and to make some of us into slaves, one species indentured to another, to build warships, but this had somehow changed. The strange one’s did not move on. Their world ships were somehow destroyed and it had become our way of life instead, to be preyed upon, by a daily menace now living in what once was called Africa.

Few of the Elders remembered how it came to be that the Earth was scorched… they only knew from whispers in the night that we were betrayed, by one called Conner Anderson, a name now used as sign of displeasure, of ridicule and hate amongst those that survived. It was common belief that the Alekui wished to return to their realm and bring more of their kind back through their gates of perdition. These gates hung in the cloak of space, five times the distance from Earth to Moon, yet still visible to naked eye. It was said not long now and it would be once more within the Alekui’s reach. They wanted vengeance for an act five centuries in the past, when first they walked the soil of our world, and we feared we would never be rid of them.

Apoplectic Calm

Like a statue, a man, sitting on rocking chair stared on in silence.
His outer demeanour, calm as the eye of his own personal hurricane…
…as around him the world was set ablaze in fire and brimstone.

Smoke from upturned wrecks now cloud once clear sky.
Already a pong of death clung to the air, yet the man cared not…
…as his kin ran for their lives.

Not one solitary creature would notice his strange demeanour.
Not a soul would ask patriarch why he abandons what cherished once was.
None but he would claim to know the slight that was made…
…for it was mad man’s eye, that roamed courtyard that night.

Foul and fawn ran befuddled in frenzied struggles for freedom.
None would survive the onslaught of zeal and fervour.
Nor did the man believe he would survive, his fate was sealed…
…as he sat in silence, waiting for the death rows of his labour.

The guiding light

I stand on the promise of a grand future,
Yet I know the foundations still need work.
My house situated on bedrock is firm,
Yet my veranda has stretched into the sand.

The sea, ever menacing sends wave after wave,
Yet I firm up, strap up, I work into the night.
I must not fail, the wall must hold up against the onslaught,
Yet doubt still creeps up, for I am now building onto sand.

I toil and slog to get it all done and never do I let up,
Yet the deadline of high tide creeps closer and closer.
I wonder if the pool - placed on veranda will stand firm,
Yet it is too late now for the aged fellow has come to inspect.

All my time and effort has gone into this project,
Yet I feel the need all around, something is missing.
I know not what and I wrought throughout the night,
Yet I know I still need it, I need a guiding light.

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