Ant Smith
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Poetry

This Is War, the real war

The nameless they cannot be named
The faceless they cannot be faced
The priceless price cannot be paid
With paper tigers they enslave

Truths are lies not yet corrupt
The puppet master sums it up
Leave us with nowhere to look
You cannot fight what cannot be touched

The fearless they can be insane
The witless they can be so brave
The hapless they can fall again
The night puts end to shadow games

But the genie's popped his cork again
All headlines are hallucinogens
Smoke and mirrors more than shock and awe
It's in our pockets, this real war


Poetry