Morning.
Started fresh with that new feeling.
Noon.
Every blissful details gone to soon.
Dawn.
All emotions were finally withdrawn.
Evening.
Went out to sever the sacred string.
Midnight.
Basked under the blue neon lights.
Twilight.
Wondered about my intoxicated night.
YOU ARE READING
Under the Midnight Sky
PoetryA collection of memories from the forgotten past. A reminiscent of savored moments which never seemed to last. A tapestry of emotions woven into art. A fragment of soul from a fading heart.
