Spectred Drums
written by: Eoghan Lyng
@eoghanlyng
I drove out the ghostlands,
As the guns went off in my chest,
Crossed the nightmare threshold,
Seeking out my wilderness.
Spectred drums in my forehead,
Carried a cleave in memory passed,
Yelling insides out at the sun,
Sleeping inside the nuns covenant.
I reached a hand to touch you,
An angel beige beside my heart,
Thinking any place is nowhere left to,
Patterned glimmers chastised art.
Wake up in the morning, kissed at the sun,
A triggerless stamp in the wilderness,
Pills expulsion yelling insides making,
The sounds of the muscular ridiculous.
Wide open roads carry corpses,
Fusion in confusion, in someone else’s bed,
Bathing ghosts in clever symmetry,
And into your arms instead.
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)
- Gates - April 2, 2024
- September 10th, 2023 - November 25, 2023
- Imaginary Conversation in The Countryside - August 15, 2023
