Time Changes

I remember when I was younger.

I remember the cool breeze that greeted my face after a long day of running around in the summer heat.

I remember my mother. 

I remember her young face, and a smile as warm as the weather in which I ran. 

But times have changed.

Bright eyes became hollow, harsh words I can barely swallow erupt from those that I trusted.

When I was young. 

Things change when you can't find happiness in running any longer. 

Now, I see the bags that sway under my mother's eyes. 

I see the graying roots, invading the beautiful shade of brown that formed in her hair. 

I see pain.

She walks like her bones are shards of glass, I close my eyes and try to block out the fear in my heart because I KNOW

That the warmth is gone. 

My mother, too, was once a child. She ran through the summer days as I did, and now she fades into the calenders, withering away. 

Perhaps she, too, watched her mother fall with the dust of the earth. 

And perhaps she, too,  clings to the hope that I will not notice. 

 

 

This poem is about: 
Me
My family
Guide that inspired this poem: 
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