Scan not a friend with a microscopic glass,
He watches the world fall from the settings
A moon in the sunset sits whirring,
Stirring, I await the holocaust to come.
And magnified we’ll walk the waste
Scrubbing the place with our fear
Hearing the silenced daze
Only a child can make.
The old man said this would come
As fools learn not to equalise
Their spoils from foe and friend
All equal in the end, as death
Takes the eyes of each and everyone
I cry with him, a man I never knew
And will never know in the awakened pit
Of a never ending sense of famished foes.
So, scan not a friend with a microscope
Or joke that he’s not in charge of a life
He will not find in a field of bombs.
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.