My name is Charlotte Clausen and I am an undergraduate studying English and Communications at Exeter University. I have a passion for creative writing and am looking for any opportunity to learn and improve my abilities.The poem you are about to read is called, “Our Eden.” It describes a painter who is diagnosed with eye cancer, whilst grieving the death of their partner. This is a character who has always felt shunned by the world, and with the last of their time with sight, attempts to paint their final vision — a painting of Eden for them and their partner. The poem surrounds themes of grief, religion, same-sex love and marginalization. My take on “Eden”, is that it is viewed as restful end for the speaker, a place of freedom and love, without shame. A new world which they can feel a part of.

The world is a cold place,
It has shown no shame in its hate for me, my kind.
Its streets are crowded with strangers
And a light which once stirred curiosity
Burns my skin and blinds my mind.

In the Morning, I find my days are numbered,
But I cannot gather strength to grieve my life unlived.
They say, ‘there are treatments, many grow old aged’
But whatever for? Darkness has only preceded darkness
In my life. His irony is divine.

The last kiss, last laugh, last love
I never savored when it mattered,
Memories that still sting my skin and drown my eyes.
What deliverance can be given,
When all else has been taken?

So, I paint again with what time remains
Each day I wake to see, is a blessing disguised curse,
To see the spots you used to hold,
Feel the air you used to stir,

But, as I lift my brush for the first time,
Hear its bristles scrape clean canvas
I feel your guide careful, touch familiar, hold warm.
As though, sent to usher me through this storm.

Together, we paint your new Eden.
One that I await, as it holds immortal you.
Together, we paint sky, land, and sea,
Unsullied by the fear of man, free
In the blue skies of Eden, I paint your eyes.

In this world, I feel my wrists weaken, hands shake as I grip to my art
My body betrays me – I’m not surprised
I had been warned of His wrath since youth,
But all I ask is to keep my eyes,

To see You in the corners of rooms,
Visions in the dark, shadows in the light.
I beg to a partisan Lord
of hellacious men,
‘Let me finish this, Blind me then.’

With these last strokes, I feel by touch
To melt the paint, my final oeuvre and crutch
Soon, the oil will dry, and I will join you,
upon this wall, Our Own Eden, Our love
to be seen by Him and all.

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