City Lights

Oisin Vink

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Give me a colour for the river she says,
White hooded and indiscernible.
Breaking down raindrops and guiding them towards the surface -
The way you do and do not do,
Little black shoe.

Oh how grey you have become,
Winding and irreparable.
Highlighting the peaks of gothic window panes,
Caressing the coffee cup -
Struggling to find a meaning within itself.

Give me a word for the lighthouse she says -
Seemingly omniscient;
If only within the mind's eye.
Beaming glances,
Black speckle, rugged post.

The white wool passes by,
Distorting the city lights -
Peering through honeycombs of reality.
There it was and there it wasn't,
Yet here I am.

Give me the red umbrella she says,
Walking hand in hand -
Connected to the static and barren land.


Oisin Vink is an 18 year old Irish poet.