For being Alive

Sometimes

 

I cry just for being alive

I cry just for feeling

The love of life

The joy of presence

The gift of infinity

Our eternal Deity.

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What story would you tell?

What story would you tell?

 

If you were alive in seven-hundred years time?

If you were a squire in the Middle Ages of European history?

If you were a Devil living in the Underworld?

If you were King of the Heavens?

 

What story would you tell?

If you worked in a pastry house

Beside the Arno river

Cooking sweet hot buns for tourists

And travelling all day long with your beloved?

 

What story would you tell?

If you worked for a mistress

Shopping her material culture

Clothed in copious pristine attire

Flirting with the Gentleman next door?

 

What story do you want to tell?

Because it is inspiring

Or close to home?

Because it is entertaining

Or like a dream

Forgotten and with no beginning?

 

What story would you tell

And to whom would it be most profound?

Where is the Wicked

Dwelling

 

Dwell it in the fields of old

Dwell it in the land of brothers

Dwell it in the mother’s crate

Dwell it in the name of the Lord?

Dwell it in the city of dreams

Dwell it in the consciousness of all

Dwell it in the signs of Hebrew

Dwell it in the symbols of God?

Dwell it in the crimes of man

Dwell it in the heresies of women

Dwell it in the Queen of forbidden lands

Dwell it in the King of castles grand?

Dwell it in the poet who speaks

Dwell it in the dust that fell asleep

Dwell it in the cupboards of plastic

Dwell it in the hometown of clowns?

Dwell it in the madness of things

Dwell it in the narrow cast of mind

Dwell it strictly within them then

Whom Dwell according to their own will?