Continue On

Winding courses our lives lead.

Sometimes so confusing.

No sense.

Come, go, leave, left.

Gone.

 

Time moves on.

Always moving;

swiftly, slowly,

it doesn’t matter.

 

Nothing lasts forever.

You hear it said again

and again

and again.

The river continues to flow. Ever changing.

 

Change. Life is change. Getting better

or not. But changing,

all the same.

Not same like that. Different,

everything’s different.

Special. Unique.

Changing.

 

But I don’t want change.

“If it’s not broke, don’t fix it.”

My way works, it’s fine…

or it was.

Why does it- did it have to change?

 

Weren’t we happy?

I thought we were,

but I guess

I was wrong.

 

Winding courses our lives lead.

Sometimes so confusing.

No sense.

Come, go, leave, left.

Gone.

 

Inspired by: “On the Strength of All Conviction and the Stamina of Love” with input from: “Magellan Street, 1974”, “Animals” and “Changed Man”

I'm Back!

So I kind of completely forgot this blog even existed. But now I'm back! I'll mostly be posting my stories and poems now that I'm out of High School and actually almost finished with my Bachelor's Degree, but there might be some other stuff too. Most of that ends up on Facebook though so...

Anyway, I was just letting you know I'm alive.
~Later

Ignorance Is Bliss

It was a calm, clear night. The moon was full. The town was quiet. A candle burned serenely in a large bay window, giving off a steady glow she could be proud of. Her color was bright and her sides smooth as she sat in her sparkling lead crystal candlestick holder.Now, candles are internally oriented most of the time. Not necessarily because they want to be, but because they must be. They have to concentrate on staying lit and shining brightly, which takes a lot more work and concentration than one might think. As such, the candle didn’t notice the destruction that had ripped through her home that evening.
She didn’t notice the lock hanging flimsily from the front door, the overturned armchair, or the open bottle of red wine emptying itself onto the white carpet. She didn’t notice the skipping record that should have been playing soft jazz or its broken brothers lying on the floor nearby. She didn’t notice the blood splatters, the broken bathroom door, the knife lying in a corner, or the overflowing tub. She didn’t notice the shadows under the water or the limp pale hand hanging over the side. Nor did she notice any of the loud sounds that had surely occurred earlier; the shouts or crashes.
She didn’t notice any of these things because they were not important to her. She just kept on burning brightly in her window like she was supposed to. And because she didn’t notice, she was content.

Copyright 2013 Kayleigh Foland

Just Another Day

I watch the snow fall as I walk and muse how appropriate the season is. As I get inside, I go to my calendar, like every other day, and draw a line through the square that represents today, through the picture of a party hat with my name on it. I check my phone, more out of habit now than anything else. No missed calls. I go to the kitchen -the fridge is empty except for a gallon of milk and some sweet tea. The freezer is full of TV dinners. I sigh as I make one. Just another day.

Copyright 2013 Kayleigh Foland