I’ve taken so many turns,
Gone ’round roundabouts,
Tried both left and right,
Attempting to follow the path of good.

This road that I travel has countless detours,
And wickedness sets many tempting traps.
But bathed in the light of my God,
He drives away the evil and I am again clean.

But night must fall,
All is dark and the sky is black.
The road becomes dim,
And only candle-flame lights the way.

There are no footprints to follow,
No divine being present,
To lead me through this night.

I find myself at a crossroads.

Which path do I take?
The left or the right,
The steep or the easy?
The fair or the just?

When there is no one to lead me,
No bright light to guide my way,
How can I see,
The better road in this midnight?

He is light,
But there is no moon tonight.
No stars to guide my way.

Then a flicker, a spark,
A comment, an act,
A hug, a kiss,
A whisper on the breeze.

A helping hand,
A kind word, a smile,
Weighs on my candle and
Tips me to one way.

Trusting in my one God,
I turn my feet to there,
Hoping and hoping,
That I am right,
And will have no regrets.

Then a push, a nudge,
Helps me,
Comforts me,
Moves me,
And I am on my way.

As it told me,
I go to the right,
And there I see
The light of the next day.

Posted in Poetry | Tagged

Fear of the Immortal

She tore through the alley, ducked into a doorway and tried to squeeze into nothingness.

Her short gasps echoed through the darkness. She could sense him. His presence. A deathly cold fear tensed through her body, rendering her paralysed on the spot. She tried to squish herself further into the space. Any pain could be endured just to get away from him.

But to no avail. Her breath stopped as she heard his footsteps, his boots sploshing through the puddles, making his way to her. Her lungs screamed for air, but it was as if she couldn’t control her body. The fear had taken over. His footsteps travelled closer, giving her a sense of impending doom.

She could feel his eyes scan the darkness, those piercing red eyes that drew her in the first time she saw him. What a fool she had been. Before, she had seen a loneliness in his eyes, giving the impression he was tired of being alone for centuries on end. But that had all been her imagination. Now, she could see what she had missed before, the feral hunger, the lust.

Again she felt the same fear she had felt when she had first found out his secret, buried deep in the basement; a corpse. It had been a woman. She had raven black hair, high cheekbones and full lips. She had probably been very beautiful once. Until she had been sucked dry.

The horror raged back through her, the shock entered her veins again and she was numb, unable to move at all, let alone breathe. He turned away seeming not to notice her, his pale face gleaming in the moonlight. The face that was far too perfect to be real. Far too perfect to be human.

She breathed a small sigh of relief, the slightest wisp of wind. Yet he heard it. He whipped his head around and this time saw her. His fangs shone in the dark, his pupils widened until his eyes were pitch black. He found her.

This time he would not let her live. Because she knew, she knew his name, she knew his face. Now she knew what he was, a vampire.

This short story was written in Year 7 and was the winning entry in the Junior Short Story Writing Competition. The first sentence was provided and students had to complete their short story in 40 minutes.

Posted in Short story

Slip of Paper

I live in a noisy town
Filled with noisy people.
The screeching of the broken wheels,
The chewing of tobacco.
The banging of the pots and pans.
The whistling of the birds.

The screaming babies.
Whining children,
And internal groaning of the adults.
The clacking hooves of horses
Coupled with tolling bells of church.
This noisy,
Insistent town, like a seller selling goods,
Can be heard to the furthest outskirts.

I’d take this noisy town any day.
If it means I can avoid the crying,
That comes with a double-scoop of sorrow.

Yes, I’d take this noisy town any day,
If it keeps that single slip of paper.
Far, far away.

This ‘single slip of paper’ refers to the letters that were sent home to one’s family during wars, often stating “killed in action” or “missing in action”.

A tribute to the WWI 100 years.

Posted in Poetry


Once I wanted to be a veterinarian. Then a horse trainer.
Then perhaps a lawyer, or an accountant. It’s true.
I did once aspire to become one of these.
But the truth is, I simply don’t know anymore.

I don’t know if I should ‘go big’ and try out for a politician,
Or simply be one of the small, quiet people who silently earn great achievements.
I don’t know if I should dedicate myself to be someone in other people’s eyes,
Or someone in my eyes.

I don’t know if I should think about my future, or the future of others.
Whether I should earn a large salary, to live a comfortable yet busy life,
Or find happiness on my own,
And in my own time.

The reality is, some of these questions could never truly be answered.
Yet, from the smallest volunteer to the most important Prime Minister,
I believe we each have a part to play. A purpose to be served.
A story to tell.

Like each atom in an already microscopic cell,
Every single one is required to make it a red cell,
An immune cell,
Or even a stem cell.

We are all needed.
It’s what makes us us.
United, as one people.
The People of Earth.

I believe we can achieve anything. Do anything.
We beat together,
Billions of hearts,
As one.

Posted in Poetry

Upon the Battlefield

Upon the battlefield
I hear his piercing cry of pain.
These sounds, they stab my soul
Again and again…

As bloody bayonets
Spear pure hearts of truth.
While the bullets fall like rain
And men fall on Death’s fatal tooth.

And as the venom spreads
Throughout these poor mens’ minds,
It poisons their courage
And with fear it sorely blinds
The love that brought them there…

And slowly the darkness binds
Their lifeless bodies with care,
Into the ground where
They were left behind.

Posted in Poetry

The Dawn of Understanding

He cries to the heavens from Earth,
“Shamed is the man who cannot be without her!”
He yells to hell from peace,
“Greedy is the woman who steals the man’s heart and takes what she will from his home!”
He shrieks, red-faced to a distant land to the clouds above,
“What could this devil-work be?”

A booming voice answers from the clouds,
“Grateful is the man who loves her!”
A sly voice answers from the deep,
“Generous is the woman who gives the man what he on his own desires”
A voice of thousands sounded from beyond the sea and sky,
“A love, perhaps partially a devil-work, is nevertheless a masterpiece”
A child’s voice whispered below him,
“Joyful is the child whose parents love him and whom he may love in return”

He looks down and sees
his past,
his present,
and his future.
“Just remember to love yourself” he whispers.

Posted in Poetry

My Lover

My lover’s lips are beautiful,
Their face like chiseled marble.
My lover’s eyes are soft and warm,
Their hair falls as curtains of silk.
My lover’s laugh is tinkling bells,
Their sorrow is short-lived.
But one thing rules,
My lover’s Love,
‘Twas truly meant to give.

Posted in Poetry