A halo of hurt overhangs
this crowded room.
Assembled amid tissues and trivia,
attempting to palliate, they offer
soggy, unstable smiles, proffer
brittle laughter, clinging embraces.
Damp cheeks are kissed,
hushed words of solace
squeak from too-tight throats, but
these wounds are too raw, too new,
to be repaired so soon.
Only time can mend this hurt,
stitching scars over heartbreak.
The corner clock, does her part,
ticking the seconds,
chiming the quarters;
moving time forward.
‘Step away, step away‘, she seems to say,
each tock pulling this precious life
deeper into the past - away from pain -
into sweet memory.
Bringing back an earlier poem that seems so very appropriate at this time.
R.I.P. Newtown angels.