The stars grow weary
of the moonlight,
it is always her,
and in the sky the stars
begin to fade away.
The sky grows weary of the sea,
it says she steals its colour,
its authenticity.
I grow weary of you,
you take my breath away
without much effort,
and when I see you,
I lose myself.
Apr 21
Apr 21, 2026 at 5:35 PM UTC
The stars grow weary
of the moonlight,
it is always her,
and in the sky the stars
begin to fade away.
The sky grows weary of the sea,
it says she steals its colour,
its authenticity.
I grow weary of you,
you take my breath away
without much effort,
and when I see you,
I lose myself.
I feel that instead of getting better at poetry, I’m getting worse
