The wind is a secret, the stars are a mess,
a million lights glowing to help us confess.
We’re high above the traffic and the neon glare,
finding the magic in the thin, cold air.
-
Author:
Lilmoonxx (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: March 23rd, 2026 04:09
- Comment from author about the poem: Just the atmosphere you're in when you want to confess.
- Category: Love
- Views: 7
- In collections: Unspoken Notes.
Offline)
Comments3
i like it
simple yet sweet, I like it
A most interesting play on words where atmosphere can be literal in a meteoric manner of metaphoric in an emotional manner. Well done
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.