Where Smoke Became the Sky, 1800’s

Where Smoke Became the Sky, 1800’s

The city did not sleep at all, it turned both night and day,

With wheels that ground against the stone, and would not fade away.

The air was thick with something harsh, that settled in the chest,

A constant weight that followed all, and never gave them rest.

A man would stand within the noise, his place already known,

A single part within a line, a body not his own.

The hours stretched beyond all sense, they blurred and lost their name,

For time was not a thing he held, but something that would claim.

The machines moved without a pause, without a need to breathe,

And those who worked beside their force were slowly drawn beneath.

Not broken in a single blow, not shattered all at once,

But worn away in quiet loss, that came in silent months.

A woman stood with steady gaze, though tired through and through,

Her strength was not a thing she chose, but something she just knew.

She carried more than she could say, yet never let it fall,

For there was no one left to catch what slipped beyond it all.

The children stood where they should not, yet no one turned them back,

Too small to hold the weight they bore, yet placed within its track.

Their hands learned work before they learned what childhood might have been,

Their days already shaped and set, before they could begin.

The homes were filled with quiet strain, with voices kept inside,

For what could words begin to change, when none could step aside.

A father watched the candle burn, until it nearly broke,

A mother counted every breath between the ash and smoke.

And somewhere in that endless churn, where hope felt far and thin,

There grew a thought not easily lost, a shift that stirred within.

Not loud, not wild, not sudden fire, but something slow and sure,

A knowing that this weight of life was not what must endure.

And though the change would take its time, and cost more than was fair,

It started in the quiet hearts that learned to still care.

A strength not given from above, nor granted by command,

But rising from the lives that stood, and would at last withstand.

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