Walked in the rain to find you,
Festive colours conjuring the ways
We would not speak.
We teach each other in symmetry
The pills we’d rather take.
Merciful, you mustered me,
My hands in heaven’s gate.
Mastered in outlooks together
Mysteries make haste.
Harboured the hagriographies
Of an Israeli, we faced the
Confines of reality, in Milanese microbeats.
Tempered in the evening rain, it made
No sense to rip apart the collared case
The presents loomed from the billowing hair.
In God you find Messiah, denounced by me
And freed in you the shadows of the man
Who left these streets behind.
Once Jew and gentile meet,
We speak in tongues to sleep,
The memories away.
Eoghan Lyng is an Irish man and sometime writer. He lives in Glasgow, having written from the perspective from Cork, Madrid and Prague. He has written for OutlawPoetry, VadaMagazine and FromTheLighthouse.