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Mom sat quiet, alone
on the navy blue recliner.
her coffee getting cold.

She stared blankly
at the old piano,
family pictures adorning it.

I decided to get her
fresh, hot coffee,
with a bit of cream like she likes it.

I stood quiet for a second,
then leaned down,
and gave her a quick embrace.

I saw her lips briefly
turn into a sad smile,
but disappeared just as quick.

I looked to the piano
flourished in family pictures,
and old memories.

I saw my mom
sitting there at Christmas Eve
playing old carols.

I looked to her face
vacant once again
all bliss gone again.

I give up the fight,
and ascend
to my room.

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The following comments are for "Old Coffee"
by hazardsam88

old coffee
i guess i get to be the first to comment on this poem. first off, thank you. i think you communicated the moment of resignation covered in this poem quite beautifully, i totally got it. you left out the specifics driving that moment though and while i trust that it was a conscious choice i can't shake the feeling that if you shared a little bit more info with me, this poem would have grabbed me that much more.

( Posted by: wrdekle [Member] On: November 13, 2005 )

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