Gordon Sykes is OUT

Gordon Sykes is OUT

PaulWADE Author

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09 August 2013

Chronicles of Gordon Sykes.

PaulWADE- Author

Two newly published 'Short Stories'.

I hope you will enjoy them...  


The Chronicles of Gordon Sykes.
Volume One : New Worlds
By, PaulWADE.

Links to Amazon and Smashwords online sales.
Both Kindle and Paperback versions

  • If there is any confusion over my names I can resolve this right away.
  • PulpKult was, and is, my trading name. The name appears on my Published books.
  • So; PaulWADE-PulpKult is ME!!! 
  • Gordon Sykes? He's the main character in my new book. 

Volume One : New Worlds.

Foreword –

Gordon Sykes is being pursued. Confused as well as annoyed, he realizes that if he is to survive, he must create a new world to live in. High up in the mountains, he builds a city made from just his thoughts; buildings, roads, and even people to keep him company. But all is not well in Gordon's imaginary utopia; his city has a darker element to it. He finds criminality and cruelty which he certainly did not invent himself.

Could it be that his pursuers have finally managed to catch up with him? It's time Gordon Sykes makes a stand and cleanses his world of these unwanted intruders.

Volume One – New Worlds.
By, PaulWADE

Chapter One. Escape

Gordon Sykes was feeling strange.
Indeed, within himself he was feeling quite lost.
Why was he here, in such a strange featureless place?
Regretfully, he couldn't quite understand what was wrong.
The face which kept appearing over him, was extremely disturbing, to say the very least. Quite ugly too if the truth were known. It did go away for long periods of time though. This pleased Gordon no end.
During the absence of the face however, he could hear his name being called, over and over again.
This was equally as annoying as the ugly face had been.
Gordon was losing his tolerance with both, by the minute.
Gordon Sykes did not like being bullied, or shouted at. He had decided this long ago; he was fairly sure that he thought he had decided this. In any case. Even if he had only this minute come up with this dislike, he was definitely not going to be bullied any longer, especially by this unpleasant face, or the grating voices.
"Gordon?" The voice again...
"Gordon. Gordon Sykes?"
"Gordon?"... "Gordon Sykes?"
And so it went on, and on...

Gordon Sykes vaguely remembered he had been somewhere else, exactly where, would come to him presently, he was certain of that, but for now, he would concentrate solely upon not being here any longer. He really must go.
Gordon Sykes didn't like here ... Wherever here was. 
In fact here, was horrible.
The voice and especially the face , were too much for him, much too much.
Through his squinted eyes Gordon saw... Nothing.
Everything was white, a very bright white, for as far as his vision allowed; perhaps for ever.
Gordon Sykes could somehow remember being the master of his own world. True, it was not completely clear to him, but somewhere in the depths of his mind he could remember things going very much better for him.
Gordon tried concentrating. It hurt a little to do too much concentrating, so he just let himself drift a little in free thought, as he liked to think of it.
Then, suddenly it came flooding back.
Gordon remembered that he had lived in his own mind; he had created a world of his very own. And, he had enjoyed every single moment in that well ordered world.
Gordon Sykes would return there, to his very own world.
A world of instant changes and as fast as lightening decisions.
Ah yes. Finally, Gordon Sykes was back.
His first change would be no ugly faces.
He recalled the extremely annoying ugly face that kept staring at him.
Gordon was unsure why he had been so interesting to this face.
It didn't matter, she was gone now.
The voice or voices too, were gone. Gordon mentally rejoiced.
Soon the face will be replaced by more beautiful ones; everywhere there will be only beautiful faces. Gordon Sykes felt at last, or again, free.
As quickly as he possibly could, Gordon created in his own new world, a beach, a long clean white beach. Of course he made the ocean a soft blue-green, with five feet tall rollers crashing in; just off the rim-line of his sandy beach. The creamy mixture of surf and sand flushing together and then pushing forward with each new wave. Now that's more like it, he thought joyfully.
Gordon spread down a towel, a huge beach towel.
He was delighted because he had made it a bright red towel. Gordon liked red.
He lay down upon the towel and stared up at the sky... Oops. Silly me; he had forgotten all about the sunshine. Stupid man, he rebuked himself. No point having the power to create my own world of beauty, if I am going to forget things. Instantly there was the sun, high and bright, set against a clear blue sky. Gordon even remembered to make the horizon shimmer, just a little bit.
There, now I can think about all the plans for my exciting new world.
I can decide what comes next. And then, I shall create...
Fifteen seconds later Gordon Sykes was fast asleep.
In his dreams, which were more like dreams within dreams, Gordon felt himself being pulled, pushed and somehow pressed into thoughts and imaginings he had no desire to follow. The places he saw and the sounds he heard became somehow confused. He was absolutely unsure of himself one moment, yet strong confident and all-powerful the next.
These were his dreams; somewhere deep within his mind of minds, he felt it was so. Gordon tried to push back, against these sensations of loss, of despair. The joy of new and exciting possibilities replaced them, but not completely.
He could see in this dream some magnificent buildings. Realizing that the changes he could create were equally fantastic. In his mind, his buildings were beautiful too. Gordon did feel though, that to change all the pillars in the entrance halls from being vertical to laying horizontal, just so he could make a point, was at best childish and achieved no possible advantage whatsoever.

Indeed, he felt somehow silly to have done such a thing. Although these thoughts did cross his mind, it did not stop him from behaving recklessly, nor did he put things back the way he found them.

 Gordon Sykes
Volume One : New Worlds.
The Chronicles of Gordon Sykes.

23 October 2012

Old Souls.

by PaulWADE-PulpKult.

A Short Story. 

Again thanks to you all, for being such great supporters.
This tale is about three Hikers, two young women and a man. Soon they find strangeness and very weird people along the way. Events as they unfold will surprise you. 
They did me !!!!
Cornwall - Stones

Here is a small snippet just to introduce you to Janice, Sarah and Roger...

Old Souls.

By the time the three of them had finished their argument, each had forgotten who it was that suggested they take a long weekend break in Cornwall, in the month of October, in the first place.
“Its going to be cold.”
“I bet it rains, it always rains.”
“Nowhere will be open, so we'll have nowhere safe to stay at night.”
And so it went on.
Each of them made a negative contribution, but they couldn't remember who had actually said what.
It did raise the question, “what were they doing in Cornwall. In England. In October; at all?”

Janice, Roger and Sarah, had taken many hiking trips together. It was their “thing.” So far they had done, some nice parts of Italy, a bit of Switzerland and quite a lot of France. Mostly because France seemed near-bye. A quick train ride and there they were.
The other places they wanted to walk over, were an air-flight away and except for Roger, neither of the girls could take that much time off work.

Which ever one of them suggested Cornwall, knew there was a four-day weekend at the end of October, so he, or she had suggested a short ramble through the open parts of Cornwall. “It'll be lovely.” All of them remember that being said. “We stay close to the coast and it will be an easy hike.” That too.

At this particular moment they were, according to the map, three miles from the sea, five miles from a small village and there should be a quite high hill, near a small woods. That is, if the map was being read correctly. Oddly enough, Janice was the map reader. Oddly; because Roger always harbored the belief that she couldn't find her back-side with two hands. Although he also whispered to himself, that it was large enough and should have its own place on the map.

Roger became friends with Janice a long time ago, the two them had a brief “encounter” as Janice describes it, but instead of falling out, they actually became  tight friends. Sarah is her best friend. So the three of them became close........................................

How did they end up HERE??

Please NOTE:- My Blogs are separated into categories.
Follow the links:-

PaulWADE-PulpKult. is my Main Blog site with various posts & information

PaulWADE-Jongluer. is for Short Stories. See the "Side-Bar" for list-

PaulWADE-Manic Bard. is Poetry. My selected poems, "Side-Bar for list-

25 July 2012

Last Broken Morning

Last Broken Morning
By, PaulWADE-2012
Photograph of Cocked Hat Rocks and Broken Head...
English: Morning has broken The City of London...The morning sun climbed slowly
glimmering over the dunes
bright light gently warming the chill,
black shadows stretched long
behind some illuminated trees,
water boiled a molten gold
reflecting its ripples in steel.

Deep in the soul of the watcher
this wonder has left him bereft,
witnessing the birth of sunlight
heralding this beautiful day,
all around him rejoiced with life
but could not thaw his frozen heart.

Darkness had vanished in minutes
replaced with a blue ceiling of light,
not one cloud marred the vision
not one tear could he cry,
he searched again for an emotion
a grain on a beach of sand,
then looked again at the cold metal
a gun was clutched in his hand.

He kissed the barrel like a lover
a new taste tested his tongue,
pulling the trigger quite gently

light and darkness, then became one.Enhanced by Zemanta

27 June 2012

The Kangaroos Ghost

Pinnacles Desert Nambung National Park Western...
by PaulWADE-2012


When you look at a map of Australia, it looks like a big country. When you drive within any part of it, you are certain it is a big country.
My job took me to many states of Australia and this time it took me to Western Australia, up near the top, on the left hand side on the coast a place called Broome.
This town was a kind of staging post for the mining towns built deeper in the desert. These other, smaller towns, were a long way from Broome and even further from each other. My work required that I drive from Broome to a place called Tom Price and then along a joining mining road to another deep desert town with the unlikely name of Paraburdoo.

The custom is that you call by the Police station and tell them if you are making a journey into the bush, as it is known. The reason being, they call the place where you are heading for, where you advise them of your arrival, so that if you fail to arrive, they can come out and look for you.
Call me townie, call me stupid, I actually forgot to do this. In my ignorance i thought a few hours bouncing along a track which in turn ran most of the way alongside a pipeline, which fed, I supposed, water to the town, Tom Price.
This is a lesson to all townies, city folk and foreigners, who think the system of reporting your journey, to be a joke, or unnecessary.

Journey by Day.

I set off a little later than I had intended. The previous evening I had met a guy who was a licensed roo shooter. He was the most taciturn and interesting person I had met in a long time and he did like a drink. Not wishing to be anti social, I tried to keep pace with him, until a six pack turned into many six packs and then ceased to exist at all.
So, hung over and late, I set off for Tom Price.
Reading my map, there was no chance of getting lost because there was only one track which ran most of the way beside a pipeline.
Absolutely could not go wrong.
About ten miles down the track I realised I hadn't informed the police that I was going into the bush, or where I was off to.

In my present state the thought of going back was not welcomed, so I drove on, doing my best to make up the time I had already lost.

The track, was a track. A little wider than a car, very bumpy, stoney and not straight, as I had believed it would be.
By now I was able to focus on the track more intently, so I put my foot a little closer to the floor. The six cylinder Commodore, which I had hired, did what they were famous for. It grunted, it roared, it got up and went. Looking back, I can see that driving between seventy and ninety miles an hour, on that track was not my finest, or most thought out moment.
At that speed, I approached a structure, like a bridge, except this was over a “dip” or gully, the gully was not that deep, neither was the bridge particularly long, however beyond it was a small mob of kangaroos, just sitting, right across the track.
I began breaking and sounding the car horn, which had the same effect as ringing the doorbell at a deaf home. Not one of them even moved.

Recalling the actual impact, is a lot like recalling a dream. The things you thought were moving slowly, actually took short seconds to happen. A memory of burning flesh was more memorable than the crashing thud as the car bumper and radiator grill made its way back, to meet the engine.
Kangaroo parts were cooking gently on the extremely hot engine block and the two dead animals were huge. I cannot say it is vivid in my mind but those memories are permanently imprinted.

The big reds of Western Australia are quite something. Many people never see one up close, or any kangaroo for that matter. I now had one on the road and another in bits, laying on my very wrinkled car bonnet. very close and extremely personal.

After the immediate shock and desperation, which all must feel directly after a collision, I sat thinking what do I do now?
The car wouldn't start, I had not informed anyone of my plans and worse, much worse this was not exactly the express way to anywhere. So the chances of another car coming along this track were remote.
Basically, I was buggered.

Then came the night.

Mutawintji Sunset
I’m not sure how many people realise that when darkness falls in Australia, it literally falls. We don't get “twilight”, or a fading day into night thing, we have day, then, we have night, just like that.
As shaken up as I was, nothing had quite prepared me for the night, more to the point I guess, THIS night...
There is an odd, almost unreal time between when it is dark and then perhaps, the moon shines.
There is little light to speak of, even though the sky is clear, clear in the same way a cup of pure clean water is clear. Anything that does shine, reflect, or glisten, does so from reflections in the sky.

The moon, at least on this occasion, was huge. Vast actually. The massive size makes you think of movies you may have seen, where close up shots of the moon make you think wow!! how beautiful is that?
Within an hour the moon and all her little sisters were there, glimmering away, the moon had a giant shiny face, surrounded by stars, which were magnificent diamonds competing for dominance.
It was at that moment, I noticed you could actually see the outlines of actual cosmos, if that’s what they're called.
I had never seen such a thing before, the surreal nature of looking somehow into forever, makes you feel very small indeed.
And small, I did feel.
very, very small and now quite uneasy.
I had heard tell of the visibility of the stars, in a clear night sky particularly without light pollution. There it was, a magnificent umbrella of supernatural proportions, from as far as I could see, to even further than I imagined one could see.

Having driven off, as I had done half cocked and mostly unprepared, carrying nothing except a briefcase full of now, useless papers. I realised how cold it had become. Even if that cold was relative, the days are somewhere in the mid to high thirties. Now, it wasn't warm at all, indeed I was bloody freezing. With no clothing to cover myself with.
As a smoker, I had a lighter, but except for the car, (and my business papers) there wasn't anything much to burn. Certainly nothing nearby and I wasn't game to go wandering off. I had left my suitcase in the Hotel in Broome, with all my clothing, which I remembered again and moaned about, again.

So I was stuck with what I was wearing and had to make some other plan, as soon as possible, because I was also hungry, cold and hungry, but by some primitive bit of luck, I did have water. Even I was not so stupid to go anywhere without water. Ever.
Shivering even more now, I began looking about me. The brightness of the moon and richness of the stars had somehow mesmerized me for a short time.

I then came to the uneasy conclusion, I was being watched.
Don't be a dick, I told myself. Who the hell would even be out here, unless they were as stupid as I had been?
If that were so, then why wouldn't they make themselves known, right away?
The bush, yes, (I don't know why they called this particular part of Australia the bush) the tiny stumpy things growing here and there, were anything but bushy.
All the same, they could and did, throw a small shadow, which from the corner of my eye grew and would impossibly, keep moving about.
I jerked my head this way and that, determined not to get myself into a state of panic.
Flicker, russell, glint, one after the other, exaggerated no doubt by my overactive, anxious mind, mixed with fear. Yes, pure fear.

The longer I sat, the more my mind wandered. Maybe it was the other kangaroos, those I had not hit. The mob was about seven, or eight strong, as best as could tell in the few seconds before I murdered two of them.
Revenge, I wondered, how smart were these beasts exactly?
The guy I had spent last evening with, drinking and talking, was a licensed kangaroo shooter.
He told me these roo guys can be pretty cunning. He told me many other things about roos, most of which I put down to his being alone a great deal, with a gun and a six pack, probably lots of six packs, for company. Until he wouldn't have known his rifle from a tinnie.
Right now, I would have settled for a six pack.
Honestly, I would have been mighty grateful for just one can of beer.

It would be easy for me to dismiss the rest of the night, gloss over it. Simply tell of those few times where my  flights of fancy ran wild.
I would be less than honest if I was to do that.
I should tell you about the very long, pretty scary night. All of it.

I mentioned before, the dead bodies of the roos.
It now occurred to me, the one which was still whole laying on the road, may not actually be dead. What if I had only knocked it unconscious?
Do kangaroos take revenge? Was it even still there?
I couldn't see from where I was sitting at the time and I was nervous about going over to find out, what if it isnt there any longer?
Those kangaroos were very large fella’s. A Big Red is no pussycat.

I had read a little, about Aboriginal beliefs. Until this night, I had not given a great deal of thought as to why, or how, these beliefs may have come about.
In a blinding flash of revelation, I could understand it so much better now.
The affinity that Aboriginal Australians have with the cosmos, animals and certain locations around the country. somehow all made sense.
My thoughts about the books I had read and the dire situation I currently found myself in, gave me an insight with such clarity that my mind really did begin to drift off, all over the place.

up in the air. simpson desert 9
The combination of animal spirits, or worse, the spirits of human beings taking on the form of certain animals, was becoming less of a fantastic belief and more pressing with each thought I had.
By now, I wasn't sure which perturbed me more, the spirit of a man sneaking about as an animal, or an animal spirit, come back to kick my ass for being such a reckless bastard and killing his mate.

Go ahead, scoff at me all you like.
I was the silly sod sitting in the middle of nowhere.
Darkness was punctuated by the stark relief of silver and black, which wouldn't for all the wishing stay in one place.
Whether it was the wind, or small animals, there were noises.
As I was sure there are very few “small” animals in that part of the world, my logic made the illogical more probable and way less appealing.

Having called the Aboriginals to my mind, I was able to add to my fast approaching hysteria, by remembering there were quite a few “problems” between the Abo’s and the white Australians. Some of which were extremely heated and nasty.
Up here, a long, long way from Canberra and Sydney, they might decide to take things up a notch.

So, genius that I was, I had managed to introduce spirits, both of men and animals. Now even live men, all of course out to get me.
As if this wasn't already enough, I had also introduced the possibility of angry ghosts of the kangaroos.

Go ahead, call me names.
Laugh and call me a poofter, or whatever else.
I was there, me, myself and I. Alone, very alone..

As each long miserable hour passed, I became accustomed to the dancing shadows and the chatting things, what ever they were. I even stole myself to go and see if the dead kangaroos, were indeed dead and likely to remain so.
So it went on, all night long.

Overcome, as I had been by the need to be warm, I had torn off the cloth seat covers from inside the car, then wrapped them about myself in the form of trousers and a hastily constructed top.
I must have looked like a cross between Robinson Crusoe and a scarecrow.
Not a pretty sight.

Nevertheless, this is how the wonderful lady found me the in morning light, shortly after dawn.
She was a local. Her job was to run the milk, which she did every few days from Broome to Tom-Price.
She had a flask of hot tea, which I would have bargained my sole for, right there and then, that is, if I still had one after last night. I had done some pretty heavy bargaining at various times through the night.
It was of course, unnecessary, because the lady gave me all the tea I could wish to drink.

The lady, like so many true blue ozzies, said not a word. No judgement, just took it all in at a glance and understood.
Bless her heart, I wasn't game to ask her for a hug, but my goodness, I really could have done with one.

When one relates such a tale, which I was obliged to do. To the car hire company, the police and then my partner, back in Brisbane, who had received a very nasty letter from the car hire company, before I had even arrived home to Queensland. They were amazed that a simple kangaroo accident had destroyed a  brand new Commodore saloon.

No worries though, they had insurance and so did I.
I admit, I did not mention, or relate any of my fears, or the frights, during those reports. Or the reason for them.

A man does have his pride.  
Anyway they are the sort of things a bloke keeps to himself !!!!!



Please pop over to see more writing of mine at :- http://www.wikinut.com/in/xdfhlf/

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22 June 2012

Homesickness - No Cure.

Talking with your family, on a computer screen
more than mooning at photo’s, wrinkled with age,
you hear their small voices, see their bright eyes
eco notwithstanding, you never want it to end,
weeks condense into moments, secrets are revealed
the kids do incredible gymnastics, with absolutely no fear,
your heart goes out to join them,
holding back dry tears, you move to a new subject
refer back to earlier years.

Homesickness is a condition, you feel when you're away,
some can overcome it, others suffer each day,
pictures are worth a thousand, but there is no touch, or smell,
all the time you're connected, you know it will all soon end,
seeing family in short sessions, bends time to right now,
reluctant to say goodbye, slippery kisses on the glass,
you’re feeling so very happy, inside an aching numb mind
wishing yourself to be there, corporeal next time,
far away heart, will you beat on ‘til next time.

21 June 2012

Same Day Commute-

Another working day, another commute,
crowds of people, shoulders hunched,
gray sky, darker clouds with rain of course
only one shelter which is full up again
some hear the whine, an eco roar
anticipation, the crowd jostled forward
a giant metal snake sucks them all in.

Breathing what passengers last exhaled
those with seats, victory faces they don't hide
many talk, but not with each other
faint insect humming of tunes well muffled
each with a gadget all of their own
thumbs and fingers dancing in time
silent tweets but not from birds.

A crackling message tells the news
next stop city, get out all you fools
as if from the traps the crowd races off
in all directions even blindfold they could find
passing the dysfunctional crouched to the ground
tins or cup in hand, trying to catch a coin
some play on a flute with pride to match.

Ah finally, inside the office at last
warm and dry, an individual again
looking over, each cubicle the same
except for one it has a tall plant
sitting down the screen looks busy
smiley yellow faces dance with no legs
trailing their message “have a nice day”...

13 June 2012

Futility in Continuum.

Any Donation Helps.

Futility in Continuum.
By PaulWADE-2012

Slack jawed he stood, his eyes open wide
numb arms hanging like two broken twigs
before him mayhem, only known in bad-dreams,
dread, fear and anger growing dark in his mind
comrades in pieces, they now float in tears.

Too many small battles, too large for the dead
young man with bravado encased in a shell,
daring bullets to find him, or hurt his friends,
gray clouds of explosions fog the horizon,
shooting star tracers speeding straight into hell.

Walking in streets echoing with sellers loud cries
food smells and smoke from open cooking stoves
watching the crowd as they amble pointlessly bye
hatred in their eyes, aimed directly at the boys,
any sudden movements could mean they all die.

Counting hours and minutes, time to go home
back to his world, in truth he’d barely known,
dust of the bomb clouds was deeply ingrained,
he carries it home with the bodies of dead friends,
smiles crease his face, but never reaching his eyes.

Slack jawed he stands, eyes open wide,
numb arms hanging like two broken twigs
at the local Mall splinters fly into the air,
the same gray smoke, found him here,
And so it continues, mankind at his best.


29 May 2012

Five Poem's.

Shall it be my words I use,
to create a picture too large to hang.
Could it be the colour is too weak,
or the mix too pale, 
to hold the attention of the world.
To know these things, before one begins,
can stifle the spirit from deep within.
Now, I feel a dart under my skin.
Shall I pull it out, fill my pen and begin.....

Hypnotic coloursColors Feel,
by.......©PaulWADE 2012 

Think in colours. Feel them blending,
shades of temper take their toll,
how bright is happiness, how dull is shame,
mixed with tolerance, a hint of gray.

From early morn, so on through the day,
so many pallets keep darkness at bay,
laughter of children, a very bright pink,
barking dogs, livid purple in beige.

A couple kiss, iridescent silver hue
making love splashes gold in it too,
as passion fades so does the light,
now spent laying in all kinds of blue.

All emotion we humans ever know,
are millions of pixels, a picture drawn,
as with crayons, our choice is free
beauty in our minds, colour you and me.


A Ghostly Chant...
by... ©PaulWADE 2012

I entered the room, no one looked around
people continued talking in murmuring sounds
as I moved across the room, cautiously, slowly
I could feel no air, or warmth, nor candles scented flow
not even one of the company glanced
looked my way with interest, or askance
my urge to speak was, of a sudden stifled
with trembling fingers my face I riffled
either empty, or gone with cold hands of lead
it all came clear, I’m a ghost, I’m dead.

How is it I see, why do I hear
these people, the living, have no care, nor fear
looking down, the floor passes me under
with a simple thought I move forward in wonder
do feelings have memory, to me it seemed
all and any, were vague as a dream
so the wall came closer, I passed on through
no goodbye to the people, I felt I once knew
is this the peace we are told of since birth
I still can not say, as I drift from this earth.


The Park in the Cemetery.
by.......©PaulWADE 2011 

Sitting among those who have passed,
in beautiful gardens - trees and grass,
visitors allow their tears to flow,
their people's places, marked in stone,
under they sleep alone in the dark,
found peace they’d craved, then turn to bone,
in mindless quiet, under walkers above,
those who remain, try to show love,
for many - too late, others too soon,
not only wolves howl at the moon...


Regrettable Journey
By.......©PaulWADE 2011 

Part One.

Born near nature, marshes and trees
dozing in soft grasses, aroma of herbs
watching as fairy like seeds, float high on the air
the buzz and hum of insects in swarms
dragon-fly reflections in the wide clear pond.

The sun hides its face as summer dies,
cold breeze drags the next season in tow
heavy mist fogs, under gray leaden skies
puddles freeze over, the land white with snow
time knows no reason, simply comes and goes.

Days were Golden, warm, wet, or cold
air-rifle, bows and arrows, long blade knives
toys with purpose, how to survive,  
camp-fire cooking, wild fowl, or their eggs,  
outrunning beatings, on ten year old legs
Voyages on the river, in a home-made canoe

crafted from fuel tanks, from airplane's of war
boy losing his boyhood, he didn't yet know
stay away from his home is the answer he saw
so many bruises, to fight back he must grow.

"Cruel anger" with Father just died

so too did the beatings, the fear and pain
love for his family, now at home can reside
young brother, mother, finally free"
wonderful times", can this really be?

In darkness of night, sleep never came

fear, pain and dread, deep in his heart
white hot pain keeps searing his brain
a dread for his mother, which had no name
working, protecting, even praying in vain.

Powerless to change this new horror

bargains with God, to let her be strong
had he caused this by not revealing his fears?
then blood freezing cold, pure darkness of sorrow,
numbness aches, who pays for this wrong? 
God,or Mankind? he looks for revenge
while his soul is drowning in hot red tears.

Main Blog-Site -----> PulpKult.Blogspot.com

For Short Story ---->  Jongluer.Blogspot.com


Black Abyss
by.......©PaulWADE 2010

Black, black abyss, take me where I don’t exist
Nothing seen, no sound or sense,
thoughts and dreams fade, become less and less.
Dark heart, black sight, leave me drifting in nothings night
Now I'm gone, shadow in shadow,
in deep abyss--- already forgotten.

Wake me not, into constant dull grey,
mind awake, memory loose with its games,
imagining if, to unthink how, each memory’s challenge,
does not drift away, smiles or laughter,
all things of the past, constant hunting for those that last
put me back gladly where nil is missed,
back to the deep, deep abyss....


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