The Wild Journey Poem by Mark (Owen) Williams

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,
To hear the sounds of freedom’s call as birds take flight their journeys meet.

The birds fly past the jungle damp across the seas and far away,
To concrete jungles – human made where freedom is a dog at play.

Chasing madly for his ball content with all, his life complete,
While in the woods owls stay awake to hunt for mice and bits of meat.

The Scottish sounds of rutting deer does welcome in a highland morn,
As falcons swoop down for their prey and horses graze at break of dawn.

The clock moves forward, land grows old, as man’s ambition marches North,
Reflecting progress, better days, but “better days” do not come forth.

No more to make their mighty way through jungle paths they once knew well,
For man now comes to “save the day”… but in man’s grace can nature dwell?