Picture the clown
with his silly frown
upside down

Picture the big cat
that docilely sat
as you gave it a pat

Picture the main ring
where the bearded lady will sing
the unicorns, risen at dawn
will trail a rainbow on a string

Picture the strongman
holding a child's hand
when everybody just ran

Picture the journey
that involved you and me
Picture the empty seat

Now picture the chaos
the emptiness of loss
all the glamour and gloss

Picture the heartbreak and joy
see the little boy, with the toy?
It's the one thing he don't allow
others to destroy

Picture waking at dawn
understanding in a yawn
nothing will be different this morn

Picture this, the colours are wild
life is more difficult to adhere
Picture the difficulty of this postcard
*Wish you were here

we've come a long way
from the days when we
passed notes between mates
secretly pretending
the words on the page
meant nothing
hiding them in pockets
to take them home
to smooth them against
the bed, reading every word
again and again and again
we've come a long way
from leaving little pieces
of paper, parts of our soul
on pillows and in bedside draws
from scribbled messages
on bathroom mirrors
written in lipstick the colour of
Siren Red and Bleeding Crimson
breaking out of our prison
we've come a long way
to being able to say
how much we mean
how hard it is to say the words
how easy it is to shove letters
into verse and choke
it's a long way from face to face
conversations that evoke imagery
from our distant dreams
it seems we've come a long way
with *Poetry

why a poet?
because a poet
hears the words
which sing the
purest harmonies
because a poet
paints their portraits
in pastels
of phrases
because a poet
dances their agonies
into leaps of faith
and pirouettes
of passion
because a poet
sees
the beauty
in the commonplace
and captures
the moment
in a snapshot
of ink and white
because a bloodless world
cuts itself
a thousand times

and the poet bleeds