it's rose, back with yet another the raven cycle themed poem
oops. im not sorry tho
niall lynch is happy and bright, his smile wide and his songs loud. he sings his children to sleep, his angel children. he was born in the middle of an earthquake, his birth cracking the ground wide open. his middle son, the grey sheep, was born in the middle of a hurricane. like father, like son. except his middle son is harsh and snarky and private and utterly in love with adam (not of eve). niall is soft and kind and honest and utterly in love with aurora (of eden). the two things that they have in common are that they can dream beauties (see aurora and matthew, of dream land) and oddities (see the tools and trinkets sprinkled across their home).
aurora lynch is as nice, as pretty, as soft as a dream— that being what she is— and she is calm, the quiet before the storm that is her boys— the rain, her love, the clouds, her youngest, the thunder, her eldest, and the lightning that the grey sheep personifies— she loves them all fiercely, like the sky loves the rush of adrenaline with the storm, but she loves her youngest the most— he is sunlight pushing weakly through clouds and cupids and their haloes— although she likes to tell her middle child that when he was born, flowers bloomed and plants grew.
sharp smiles sharp suits / scars from the grey sheep / threatening glances / rolling angry words / soft touches / warm embraces / the littlest brother his most loved / doesn't love her but is in love / fancy cars / dark ties / scarlet nails scratching at backs / dark steamy car windows / leather shoes / 400$ watches / the perfect student / 10A+s and applause / tattoos hidden under suits / the black to his brother's grey / gasping the wrong name / dark marks up inner thighs / 4:27am / driving two hours to go to mass / all bark and no bite / bus passes never used / privilege / inky fingertips from newspaper / therapists on black leather sofas / declan lynch, boy extraordinaire /
aching electric joints. tough smiles. buzzed heads. little girls with hooved feet. bmws. dreams that jump with passion enough to come alive. clothes strewn in the backs of cars. a school attendance lower than ten percent. fucking a boy above a church. asleep with electronica pounding. ravens cawing names. rocks with latin carved into them. lost. found. adam parrish. smouldering eyes. pretty bad but not the worst. husky singing. irish folk music. food served with a flourish. kisses on cheeks. surprised laughter. bare smiles. jackets around shoulders. lips kissing split skin. whispers of imsosorryhehurtyoulikethatimherenowyouwillbeokay. mattresses on the floor. kissing at four am. affectionate insults. a doe pure as snow bounding from a dream. blankets for sleeping cows. ronan lynch. not all bad. not all good.
a boy dreamed up by a boy, happy and loving unconditionally. his shoes are scuffed from skipping and his hands nicked from tugging at his brothers' sharp hands. all wide smiles and loud laughs, all, please, don't fight. matthew lynch could be described as a cherub or a saint, an angel child regardless of which one believes. he was dreamt up by the grey sheep when the grey sheep was only a child, and so he is not as complex as other humans, because 6 year old brains can't dream fully formed children, but that doesn't make him any less lovable or beautiful. he is the favourite of the whole family, except for niall, but niall's dead now, so what does it matter?
