pause (for manchester)

This is a pause.

A break.

A chance to

 wait for the silent train

  in the hushed city,

    where the sky feels

        grey and the people look

           blue.

They’re ready to pull

through, but not yet.

No,

 not yet.

This is a pause.

For the stranger

  at the bus stop. For the man

       at the coffee shop.

For the woman who lived there all her life,

and who now is lost.

Her map fell to ash,

 slipped through her fingers

     as the world collapsed.

One less key to turn in her lock.

This is a pause.

For houses no longer

  homes.  For families no longer

        whole.

With gritted teeth and tear stained cheeks,

  we’re taught to bear arms and soldier on.

But I’d rather be a shoulder to cry on

 for those who have lost one.

Pause.

The city is not asleep but

   let it snore.

No greater nightmare to prepare for.

Silence on a steady sea,

 recovering from a

          strong and stable war.

Pause.

Tighter knots and

     forget me knots.

Let the bee’s rest for one day more.

Pause.

Watch those 22

    moonlight orbs,  sail away

         to a brighter shore.

Pause.

For those who can’t anymore.

Pause.

Feel the silence as it pours.

Pause.

Hear the city beat for them all.

Pause.

May their stars never fall.