To A Friend From Afar
If words could convery the sorry eyes I hold,
After weeks of angry sustenance,
Glares weaned from ignorance
Then I’d write down those words,
Through a letter weathered,
From these bruised hands of mine.
And if sadness could be changed,
After meanings and beginnings wrenched,
Over seething believing inner lies,
Then I would.
Goodness comes from outward wailing,
Inner sailing, begailing us,
And if not for those words once said,
Bled out in cancered spite,
Light and right in every sense,
Let them never be said or shed again.
If ever an apology could be read,
I would be the one to read it.
Eoghan Lyng is an Irish man, who has written from Cork, Madrid and Prague. Currently residing in Glasgow, Lyng continues to refine his work. Aided with the ability to write in English and Gaeilge, examples of his work have been published in Vada Magazine, From The LightHouse, An Gael-IrisLeabhar Idirnaisiúnta and his eponymous wordpress account.