From up here
I can watch the whole stage
How they act
As if they were actually
Actors
In a play
I can see them living
Their lives
Without really living
Only playing it
In their living room
On their sofa
With their kids
Beneath the telly
And the family portraits
I can listen
To their dialogues
And their pauses
Sighs  
Feel their silences
Like liquids filling lungs
Threatening to suffocate
Them
Until love enters
And turns the whole play
Into comedy
Relief
Release
And curtain fall

I took it off
my red hair
because I could
it was mine to take
I took it off
and I feel good
I feel reset
set free
from the image
other people wanted to see
this way
they get to see me

did we sleep
and did we dream
the same line
did our dreams intertwine
in here
for a moment
did we sleep?

Is there poetry
In repetition
Life as a prediction
In the safety of precision
Indecision?

Is there poetry
In every fight
As long as we write
Let our words take flight?

Is there poetry
In all
Every word
Misspelled and all
Is there beauty to enthrall
In every poem we put
On this wall?

Is there poetry in this
Or will it need something
Maybe a kiss
Will it have to promote bliss
Or happiness, love
For you to think
That there is poetry
In this?

Our paths are paved here
with smooth black asphalt
lined with s-cut stones
so we won't have to touch
ground
between our semi-detached
houses
and our small fenced gardens.
Our paths lead to nurseries
and to school
and a medium sized supermarket
and they are all flanked with well kept
bushes and lawns
This is Suburbia Danica
Our paths are made like circles
so we stay
Our children don't get lost
and our happiness doesn't
escape.

he came
from shadows
with ideals deep
and dark
his elegance
wrapped in mystical
musical
eloquence
beyond his mask
of classic poetic rage
and with him
came a new vocabulary
of beauty
and rebellion
a revolution in
words
burning pain
and reconstructing
from ashes and smoke
images
to set my mind free