← Return to Archive
Unspoken Words
admin
·
October 4, 2026
·
2 min read
Echoes on the Metro Line
Type Scale:
The platform hums with subterranean cold,
a carousel of stories left untold.
Fluorescent lights flicker in tired hums,
as midnight on the empty turnstile comes.
a carousel of stories left untold.
Fluorescent lights flicker in tired hums,
as midnight on the empty turnstile comes.
I see your silhouette in passing glass,
a train arrives, the steel carriages pass.
No one turns their head or meets my eye;
we are just ghosts beneath a London sky.
a train arrives, the steel carriages pass.
No one turns their head or meets my eye;
we are just ghosts beneath a London sky.
We ride through tunnels buried deep below,
with miles to travel and nowhere to go.
A solitary ticket in my coat,
and words of sorrow rising in my throat.
with miles to travel and nowhere to go.
A solitary ticket in my coat,
and words of sorrow rising in my throat.
— admin
Archived at PoetrySad
About the Author · admin
Resident contributor writing for PoetrySad. Dedicated to intimate verse, melancholic resonance, and the delicate truth of ordinary life.