Faith may blind
But cynicism deadens
Find then the way
Where wonder can possess
Yet eyes still see clearly


Weary as the sea
That must make one more wave
Before being dissolved against the shore

Crescent Moon

Beautiful crescent moon
High above the clouds
Tiny sail in a vast ocean of sky
Whose ethereal light brings hints of knowledge
To the tangled shadows of our ignorance
Whose dark iris under lidded umbra
Opens onto a mystery not meant for light of day

Nothing more

A single tree
Stands in silhouette
Against the failing light
Nothing more is needed

Merry go round

Rooks thrown across the skyline
Like paper bags in the wind
Toddler sits on the merry go round
The centre of his own storm
Be at the centre of your own storm

Like love

Cruel day when moved to hate
Those I love the most
Yet perhaps like love after all
Honesty in trying times

Edge of a storm

The edge of a storm
Wind in the long grass and trees
A gate bangs open

Water on pebbles

Water on pebbles
Wind in the eaves of houses
I shiver under covers
More from thought than cold
The baby cries at a dream
A stirring in the dark
In the morning we walk
Under cold, colourful skies
I rub my toddlers feet
Life is like this –
Moment to moment, unbroken

Dying not to die

I’m dying not to die
Sick to death of sickness
Fed up with loss
And weary with the bullshit
People tell themselves
To rationalise their end
What if we didn’t need to dream
Pray, or pretend?
But through the light of science
Live again and again
In every fascinating permutation
A thousand adventures
In a hundred worlds
Never be in a rush
And never be bored?

Morn is dark

Rain taps on the glass
Tick of the radiator
Outside, morn is dark

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(C) Copyright Mark B Williams 2014 Registered & Protected

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