Wednesday, January 20, 2010


Should I exist?
Am I a paradox.
A pair of hands,
With no clock.
I am here,
The woman who birthed me is gone.
It is my first birthday,
Since she passed on.
Tomorrow she will not call,
The phone will not ring.
Showing her number,
It makes my eyes sting.
I would not be here,
Were it not for mom.
And on my day of birth,
I must remember she is gone.
Focus on the moments,
The days she was near.
The paradox of someone gone,
But you know was here.

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