Michael Alfonso

Empty Chair

The empty chair I remember each night before bed,
Memories of a sigh and a stare as I tilt my head,
Not really sure the action I'm expected to choose,
And still I open my mouth and whisper I love you.

I remember now; like; I remember then,
Only stories I hear tell me that chair held a man,
Asleep; for soo long; so, tired of life,
I know now the one I called mom; he called wife.

Poem Submitted: Saturday, December 15, 2007
Poem Edited: Saturday, April 30, 2011

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