Left Behind

Aside from poorly aged belongings
Unwanted and dust covered
I leave you my stories
The postcards of my inner vacations

I was never vacant, for that denotes emptiness
Less spaced out and more spaced in
Read and discover wonders from your armchair
Explore perilous vistas from a safe space
Though gone my words will still guide you
Living on as a Virgilesque companion

Walk the petrichor scented forests of dream
Enjoy inner werifesteria meanderings
To reach the crumbling ash drifts in volcanic foothills
Unsure if the snapping underfoot is twig or petrified bone
The remains of an ancient (yet recently thought up) civilisation

Can it truly be ancient if the illusion is new?
If I think it so then surely it must be
Who else is to know?

A small stream guides passage through the land of red and grey
No mighty Styx torrents or Charon needed to pay
Soon you will see the arch carved in stone
A void-trapping tunnel stands as its own guard
For who would tread lightly into such an imposing presence?
A rhythmic gnashing utters forth followed by watery froth,
It’s the cave in the cliff we discovered years ago

Though not anything like as you once saw it

Tentative steps through salt-tinged darkness
The sounds of blood and the ocean rushing around your ears
Eventually breaking into a run towards funfair lights
A tinge from a long-forgotten childhood tugs at you
You know what this is
You’ve been here before.

It’s the lands we made together before the world broke and remade us
If you press the sights close enough to your heart you will visit again
Memories from the halcyon age of innocence we had as children
Now an inheritance for you to draw upon when life ages you faster than it should.

David Robinson

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