Mark (Owen) Williams Poems

My world has collapsed, my bridge has broken and I am falling.
Deep into a never ending chasm of loneliness, I cannot get out. I struggle so
hard but I cannot escape… my own mind.
I am afraid. The convulsion of all my pain rumbles through my stomach,
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Every time I hear your name I fall into a dream and my mind cascades back through my memories, back to those precious weeks we spent together – as man and wife.
Discovering ourselves and the treasures; treasures buried deep within those rain drenched streets of London.

Two people in love… in the moment, living for the now. A couple at last, not constrained by the world and its burdens.
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Chorus
Oh take me back to England, the country of my birth,
Bathe me in that cool fresh air, blessed English country Earth.
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Lovers at the break of dawn swop stories of the night now gone
Over coffee mixed with shots of wine rejoicing in their wonder time
As the excitement of elicit nights comes through and fast – free flowing…
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When I was young I used to think the world was one great field of joy, full of love and high adventure running freely as a boy.
Then my father stopped and told me “You need a focus in your life”, my days of childhood lost forever, such words enflamed internal strife.
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Diversity brings tragedy to people who have no power
day... month... hour... tick away… tick away
As the world waits for change, but this change does not come
And the count just goes on and the hatred remains.
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The winter grey now turns to green, the birds come out to play serene.
And river brooks begin to flow, the harvest mist now starts to glow.
The sunshine clear across the land, the seas now gently on the sand.
The deep blue sky it warms my heart, new families begin to start.
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It was on that day that hell rejoiced and heaven did refrain, when death turned bold compounded souls all echoing in pain.
The innocents of youth was poured as wine on mud and rain, red streams did flow a river flood as trenches called their name.
Those trenches called their name.
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I stopped in yonder garden meek to watch the lambs at play,
To rest a while my peace to seek and watch the buds in May.

The winter red now turns to green as snow becometh dew,
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The eyes are windows to the soul they reflect the hurt, the countless dreams,
Of monkeys quivering in their cage recalling hopes of jungle streams.

They long to hear the lion’s roar and feel real ground beneath their feet,
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