Up above the city
where the cold night holds its breath
I sit with a glass in hand
and listen to the rails hum beneath me
a steady pulse
a rhythmic beat
moving an entire city
to and fro its unfinished stories.

The subway’s tremor
is a heartbeat made of steel
carrying strangers
through shadows and tunnels
each vibration a reminder
that motion itself, is intention.

Across the way
the apartments glow like constellations
quiet galaxies
stacked in brick and glass.
Every tiny window, a universe of its own:

someone cooking,
someone unwinding,
someone kissing the top of a child’s head,
someone pacing through their thoughts,
someone staring back at the skyline
hoping for something unnamed.

Each flicker of light
is a life unfolding
a quiet truth,
a private storm,
a moment of peace
you can’t see, but somehow feel.

And beyond it all
the Capitol stands illuminated
a reminder
that the world below
has weight
and that every heartbeat on the tracks
every window in the dark
every voice rising in daylight
matters.

Tonight
I am only a witness
a journalist looking back
seeing the city breathe
hearing its melody
and knowing deep down
that the story isn’t just
what happens in the streets.

It’s the lives unfolding
in every lit window.
It’s the rhythm beneath the concrete.
It’s the quiet humanity
that keeps the world moving
long after the speeches end.


Poem Title not my own: Name of friend’s band in high school.