Now is the winter of my discord tense.
A tense so sweet and vain.
It may not be an original tense.
But a tense it still remains.
Ironically passive in a nasal sense,
It speaks to triumphant ears.
A partial thought made obsolete.
But it will last a thousand years.
Pretentious though the letters lye.
They need not fight for more.
Its place, a hungry compromise.
My kingdom for a whore.
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.