Ant Smith

All poems

Self loathing

There are singers who hate their very own songs and
There are mothers that hate their daughters and sons
There are gods of spite and wrongs and rights
And some of the days are darker than night

There are teachers who teach mistaken beliefs
There are people next door you may never see
There are surgeons that yield the bluntest of knives
And circles that seem like infinite lines

There are lovers you've won and lovers you lost
There are vague memories we used to eat cod
There are unknown soldiers that we just all forgot
And a considerable speck is still just a dot

There are cadavers and carcasses and fossils and such
There are resting places that have all been booked up
There are lives that were lived without too much fuss
And an unbroken skin makes a beautiful husk

So rage for me
Rage for me
Rage for me
Rage
Do not go quiet into your graves

Their are victims of lies and hypocrisy
"What you gonna do if the queen comes for tea?"