A Thief’s Tale

September 13, 2016

Stalking silently through
Back alleys as dark as sin…
Her aim was always true,
Her dagger, cruel and thin.

No ordinary cutpurse,
She answers to no man.
A conscience is her curse,
The damned are her clan.

Beneath a morning mist
She took one life by mistake.
With death her blade kissed:
A child’s life she did take.

Now she roams, eyes shut,
Burdened still by her guilt.
Deeper than blades may cut,
Her fate now seems to tilt.

With each life she steals
Another soul’s recompense.
True natured, this reveals:
Her final duty is defence.

Driven by her undying pain,
Now only evil shall be slain.


Midnight Stroll

October 6, 2015

It was the same song
Each and every night:
She arose and walked
Along the rocky path
Through the park to
Where she had died.

Her first time there,
Of course, would be
Her last. There was
No malice in her end,
Though she certainly
Wasn’t happy now.
Some folks have it
Far worse than being
Struck by a city bus.

As she strolls silently,
She takes note of the
Wandering souls still
Made of flesh, all still
Breathing, in and out.
She sighed to herself:
“I miss having blood.”

It was an odd thought,
Even for a ghost. She
Had simply meant that
There was a certain
Vitality to it, having it all
Coursing through you,
Every moment a lifetime…
And a certain emptiness
When it’s all gone.

Her pale face turns,
Once again, to face the
Bus that is no longer there.
Perhaps next time she will
Look both ways first.



May 14, 2012

He woke up coughing. Smoke was billowing through the door to his room and he was already starting to sweat. Adrenaline pushed him out of bed and into the hall. The smoke was coming from downstairs. As he pulled his t-shirt collar up to cover his nose and mouth, he crouched his way down the staircase. Without hesitation, he bolted outside and breathed deep in the night air. “Where is everyone?” he said to himself.

In a panicked state, barefoot in the yard, he began to realize that no one else was with him. His father’s absence was nothing new, but it was the fact that his mother wasn’t already outside that worried him.

The searing heat and the second floor groaning under its own weight told him to stay put and call for help. He could hear the sirens coming from across town. Suddenly, his father pulled up into the driveway and stepped out, mouth open in disbelief. “DAD!” the boy cried out, and ran towards him. The passenger door swung open and a tall blonde woman stepped out. She was gorgeous, and looked like she had just hastily put her blouse back on. Wide-eyed with terror, the boy shouted, “Where’s Mom?” His father, still just standing there, shrugged. The roof had caught now, and flames licked the inside of the upstairs bedroom window.

Without a word, she dropped her coat and bolted towards the front door. You could just make out the father’s plea, “Amara, wait” before she disappeared inside. Ten. Fifteen. Thirty seconds passed and all you could hear was the sound of the fire churning the inside of the home into ashes. Thirty more seconds and they heard a wailing inside: it was the mother!

Tears streaked lines down the boy’s soot-caked face as he saw her come out. The blonde emerged from the smoky doorway carrying his mother in her arms. The EMTs had arrived and they took the unconscious woman into an ambulance. That was when the boy noticed the flames still dancing on the blonde’s shoulders and arms. She patted them out with her bare hands without as much as a flinch and he looked at her in wonder as she stood there, her flesh as flawless as when she first got out of the car. Their eyes met and she put a finger to her lips to quiet him. With a wink, she walked off behind the ambulances and they never saw her again.

Terra Pax

November 10, 2010

Once, there was a King
of a quiet little domain
he had his sons and his dogs
a garage filled with things
most people hid in closets
under the stairs
a proud lion of a man,
he kept them secret
for his own reasons

then one day, he decided
it was time to find a Queen
worthy of his rusted throne
the woman he chose had
two sons of her own, and
looked for nothing more
than a place to settle

years go by and the King
grows bitter and angry
tired of his life how it is, he
took his frustrations out on
those closest to him
and they took it,
bruises and all,
because they thought he
would become something more
something worth their effort
but men’s hearts are not
so easily swayed
and the ways of his anger
became martial law

a fortnight of battle
swelling from within
until, finally, the climax
the Queen steals away
in the twilight hour
leaving the King a shell
of what he once was

now, the King is dead
no funeral pyre, instead
the towering stack of his own
life’s regrets and mistakes,
piled together as a testament
to one man’s legacy
terra pax indeed