Going

In the face that bears no expression
the mild wrinkle that age has gifted
and behind is the broken bridge to the past
to rewind or backward forward
your yesterday in a frame
in the mirror stands a stranger

Staring, in search for something other than the expressionless face
with hope that familiarity grace its presence
She fingers her face, and in her eyes is confusion
your stomach knots, you know the conclusion; Imagine her empty chair,
to say that mother there is no tomorrow,
although she leaves you with thousands of yesterdays

Tomorrow maybe filled with pain
but in thousands of gift wrapped boxes, is yesterday's joy,
yesterday's laughter, yesterday's smiles
all of which will bandage the pain of tomorrow