Ant Smith

All poems

Somebody else's problem

What the eye can't see the heart can't grieve?
Don't talk to me about falling trees
Dry rot and wood lice fill my home
Corruption reaps all that has been sown

What the man can't hear cannot deceive?
Yet echoes rebound in perpetuity
Lies infiltrate even dreams
I hear them whisper in The Scream

What the tongue can't speak cannot be believed?
Yet thought is squandered by cheap speak
If you want to recognise the truth
Take a look upon the sole of your boot

What the hand can't touch cannot be conceived?
And yet all life's pains are inside me
The mighty questions can descend
To a single thing touched, heard, spoken or read

I feel it in my fingers
Some gossamer thread
Everything's connected
Inside my head