By Robbie Foster
L’enfant I
Go with me now raising nothing,
For nothing will come from nothing.
Your hands, they will brush against mine
And feel the marks of adulthood
So rudely and so freshly forced
Upon me and my shaking palms.
Go with me now raising nothing,
For I’ve nothing left to tell you.
Your hair will fall over your brow,
My world will be shapeless to you
And you’ll feel me gently trembling
As I lead you to your slaughter.
Eden II
Hold my hand and take me to the river,
We were born there after all – and will die
Some day. I’d like to return before then.
I want to listen to the familiar roars:
Mum shouting to stand back and that picture
Dad drew to let me know that I was seen
As I dissolved into the peripheries
Of the river’s great undying torrent.
I’d like to return there before I die,
To run my hands through the hopeless waters
Flowing slowly into obscurity:
From the moment I touch them – from that place
On the bank to which I haven’t returned.
I’d like to return there before I die,
To feel my hands be gently swept away,
By the waters, into obscurity –
To know that there was some real in all this.
Shutting the door III
Walk a few steps ahead of me.
We’ve said everything that we can
For now, and the day isn’t getting
Any shorter. I like to think
You were like this once – long ago –
The overcoat looser, less grey,
And the drink that we could’ve had
So much the more understanding.
Still you wanted us to walk home
Together, just for old times sake,
And I know that you’ll leave the door
Hopefully ajar, just in case
My nostalgia for being at home
Can tempt me back inside with you.
It will probably, and this will
Be a silly flight of fancy,
Stopped then forgotten forever –
My last desperate gasp in all this,
Stopped then forgotten forever.
Featured Image – Toby Dossett