For being Alive



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.


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?

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


Abandoned by the recant.

The room slot

Blinded, the slit

Of an Eye Drop


The cell of my lot

Crept upon

Sacked and forgot.

The castle tower

Leaning, without support

Like a palace


By the Inquisition band


The history of mine

Like a farm

By the boy who ran off

Drunk, drugged


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


Lake pools

The Eye Drops.