My Mother

March 5, 2009
By Anonymous

I walk into my house,
My mother turns to me,
her face is disheveled.
Black tears run down each crevice,
of her beautiful face.
Her hair, is not brushed.
Her clothes, are meant for sleeping.
Her mouth, is supposed to smile.
Except now, all it shows is the sadness brought onto my family.
The fear of what is going to happen next.
And some kind of happiness, just some little light.
That shines and tells me everything will be okay.

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