Ant Smith



It will feel different, someday

Spring will have sprung as it always must

Mud will dry out and return to dust

Moist bodied creatures baked in the sun

Lazy dogs panting too tired to run

A caustic contusion of searing intrusions

A chaotic collision of slipping incisions

A chronic collusion of sightless illusions

A complex contraption my synaptic infactions

Hope springs eternal like a damn curse

Life repeats patterns, chapter and verse

Soft bodied creatures facing the sun

Nothing survives when all' said and done

It will be different, someday