He closed his eye to himself,
Speaking with clarity changing views forward,
Sped with grace, to face free think
Himself. At a time made shallow,
Rushed to fate himself fall,
A flat in thoughts, he waded
Ways to walk. Onward in
A moment they call life
He called death.
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.