Manchester, Greater Manchester, United Kingdom
Manchester, what can you do
to ease the pain of living?
How can time be made to bend
to our own special rules?
Existing in lulls, in the cycles that
encompass the city, I am part
of the traffic that stops and
starts as the people come and go.
Manchester, what are you made of?
Concrete slabs and glass atop old stone:
layers of passing time that can be measured
like rings in an ancient oak.
The Hilton hotel; St Peter’s Library,
Portland Tower; St Anne’s Church.
These are the vertices in the vortex
of our accumulated histories.
Manchester, I want you to be perfect,
an unreasonable demand I guess,
given that nothing can be perfect
in a universe that’s unfinished and flawed.
Nonetheless I see you climbing
through the mists of glorious broadcasts.
And I am still here, impatiently waiting
for your final revelation…
View original post 12 more words