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?

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The Eye Drops

Four white walls

 

Blurred, an eye

Upon a frame

With an eyelash

Dripping wet

The Eye Drops.

The firing squad

Thinly, stood and shot

Black like heresy

My eye turned

Supremacy

Abandoned by the recant.

The room slot

Blinded, the slit

Of an Eye Drop

Home

The cell of my lot

Crept upon

Sacked and forgot.

The castle tower

Leaning, without support

Like a palace

Massacred

By the Inquisition band

Drinking

The history of mine

Like a farm

By the boy who ran off

Drunk, drugged

Sodomy

Like a carther

Eaten by God.

The four eyes

My fire, light, soul and water

Skewed open not broken

Spat upon

Flooded not drowned

Like a marshland of heretics

Burnt at the stake.

Finally a sigh

Revenge for my eye

The angel of

Dragons

Lake pools

The Eye Drops.

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?