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written by: Eoghan Lyng
@eoghanlyng
The velvet greys approaching,
On a skin tight shot they hang.
The blood beats bearing
Lives so young and cherried.
With a weapon love
Leads material walked
Two languages spat from
The fruits of the same source.
Neither did I shoot nor I
Kill another, or other
For a saddled horse needs a rider
Strong enough to steer a mane.
The hairs have shortened outwards
Where a scar becomes matching
Fetching the men from the boys
Of a conman’s gun gone wrong.
I called out your name
Two dancers on bodies
Reaching a hand to embrace.
The bullets scurried northern, furthered falls
A balder human, boldened and brave.
They died. Nor I lived.
Eoghan Lyng
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.
Latest posts by Eoghan Lyng (see all)
- Portrait of A Ballerina - February 1, 2020
- Contradictions - December 6, 2019
- A Fool With Many Faces - October 15, 2019
