Cycle a poem by Fatima Azeem

 Cycle

The time of night is most quiet

When the world bows down and falls asleep

At least some fall

Not the stars, though

The shine where most eyes keep shut

Of course, the moon is looked at 

Mostly for comfort

Or in hopes of a face smiling back

Cars still brew on the streets

And tall lights in the dark make paths for the blind

A fair share of animals live during the night

Still, it feels as though life becomes slow

Because someone might have their hand placed in the middle of their chest

Someone might grasp at the softness of clothing

And feel a sense of peace

Knowing yesterday has left and tomorrow is showing