What masks do we wear before the fall of night?
What lies do we hide openly in plain sight?
What fears do we hold,
Like treasure against the heart?
What monsters do we make
Of men no different than ourselves?
For this is the night of greatest darkness…
What better time to hold up a light?


What’s next?

What’s next?
Strolls a half-remembered thought
Between days that blur –
No great cause to live my life
All this knowledge circling the drain
Wisdom for its own sake
Ivory towers never touching down
On another’s life
Can being a better writer, a martial artist
A better man be enough?
Or is this simple ego striving for distinction
In a world of seven billion souls
Doing the same?
An individual unlike any other,
Or a story finding its fate
In the sea?

The course

Intention-less wonder;
This life that blows me from the course
I never knew I’d set

The Hours

It is not death I fear,

but endless empty hours with only bitterness and regret to fill them.

I would rather live a short life filled by doing what I love,

than a long boring one with only a vague dream of redemption to give me hope.


So I’m sitting here, in this shithole, wondering what this life is all about. As the sun drains it’s light out of the sky, the windows looking out on the parking lot glaze out with reflected images, leaving pools beneath the restaurant lights that promise more than morning will deliver. The steak was grisly, the endless chips a small portion too inconvenient to refill, and I have no appetite for returning to my hot, sterile room either. Yes this truly is a low point, one of those waves of existence that leaves you becalmed and wishing for something, anything different. But hey, my iPod is working, so atleast I can write about it. Time to pay the bill.

Thanks to all who read,
And more to those who dare write-
For they-are-warriors.

I nominate Inside the Mind of Isadora

Dandelion breeze

He wanders like a seed,
Blown atop the dandelion breeze,
Ever seeking home.


Honour and Pride

Honour and Pride
Houses made by men who love to build
Bonds that bind one to something bigger
Than himself.
A mind-trap but also a wonder
Of imagination.
If I must die for something
Let it be this:
That I am worth something
And did not fail before the fray,
But led my men from the front in war,
And at other times was not slow
To make my peace,
When wisdom showed me the error of my ways,
Long past deeds that rise like ghosts to offend
The house I strive to free of shades-
Demons that crept
Under my shield of self-regard,
Whilst better men held their tongue
And hoped I would be wise enough to find the strength within,
Rebuild the world shattered by my own clumsy hands.
But in the end what’s true is what men believe,
And I believe that houses like men were made to fall
Only to rise again,
And I was made to build them.

-For Mr Harding

The Rose

From mud grows the rose
Fighting through the choking weeds
A new life is born


(C) Copyright Mark B Williams 2014
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