Where do we go from here?
Only you would know…
I am sitting here pondering myself
Because you don’t lend me your mind
How did we get here?
I imagine it’s all my fault
You changed along with me
Now we’re both lost in our hearts
What do you want from me?
I really don’t have a clue
Your feelings elude me
Your heart cold and skewed
When did we fall apart, my love?
Not sure how we reached this demise
I don’t remember losing your heart
Regrets overflow my mind
Why do we do this to each other?
I wish I could take it all back
For my love is always with you
Even on the darkest of our days
If you have one
You’ve only just begun
You don’t wanna jump the gun
Because we are just beginning the fun
It’s better to have something
Because all of nothing is none
Some of something is some
A lot of many things can be a ton
Time to run!
via Daily Prompt: None
My virtual world sometimes takes over my real world. It has a control of me that I cannot explain. I make all these plans to get tasks done, and then hours pass with me still playing my games.
There will be more posts tomorrow. Thank you to everyone who has followed me and commented. The control shall be mine tomorrow…I hope! 🙂
via Daily Prompt: Control
via Daily Prompt: Yarn
Whenever I think of yarn, I think of my grandmother. She was always crocheting something beautiful. She would sit there on her little love seat, no matter the season, and craft away at a new blanket with her yarn purse at her side. Her crochet basket was always full of so many colors, needles, and patterns…granny squares covered the cloth bottom.
She had a small closet under the stairway that went upstairs, and it had shelves stacked from top to bottom. Guess what was in there? Oodles and oodles of yarn organized by colors filled the shelves, of course, all protected by mothballs. It looked like a closet of rainbows. As a child, the scent of the mothballs mixed ith the yarn was a pleasant one. I loved walking into that closet and seeing all the different reams of string that she had picked up.
I remember we would go to K-Mart specifically to get yarn. I was always excited to do this because I got to pick out some spools of it too. She liked Red Heart, and I liked anything that felt soft and fluffy. I would usually get the calico colors…the ones that changed as you pulled them out of the spool.
We’d check out and head back home. Then she would put her new yarn in her basket, make me something to eat, and get to work on her new project.
Man, I miss her so much. I see her face now smiling with that needle in hand…a cigarette burning in the ashtray on the side table. It’s such a good memory…one I haven’t had for a while.
Goodnight dear friends
It’s time I took my rest
My eyes have grown weary
As the day was quite long
And morn comes around quite early
Tomorrow a new day shall start
With more rhymes and ramblings
New friends to discover
New topics to read
Farewell for now…off to sleep
Last January I lost my father, and it has been one of the hardest things that I have ever encountered in my life. The feeling that I will never be able to call him, hear his voice, complain about this or that…it’s overwhelming still after a year of him being gone. I think the word I am looking for to describe it is surreal. It still seems like he is there, and then I realize that he is gone. Losing a parent feels like a completely different loss to me than losing a friend or other family member.
Through every loss in your life though, you get something in return…at least that is how I think about it. I got back my ability to write again. Dad was a poet, and he had wisdom well beyond what I had ever imagined growing up. I admired him as my father, but I don’t think I saw him completely until I was sifting through my box of photos and his stuff that I brought back after the funeral. His poems were also in this box. I sat here for hours reading all of them. I learned so much about him that I never knew, and it brought tears to my eyes. As soon as I was done reading, I created this blog, and I have been writing for hours upon hours now…the only rest between was sleep. He inspired me to start writing again because it is what we have always shared with one another.
Growing up I would share my short stories and poems with him, and he would critique them in a caring but efficient way. Sometimes it made me so mad when he would give me direction on one of my stories, but as I look back, I appreciate that criticism. It was hard to take in. I was just a little girl…about 10 years old I would think looking back. I had no idea then that we would share the same passion for creativity and expressiveness.
His pen name was S.A. Kingston, and he was a brilliant poet and artist of words. He was my Dad, and I miss him dearly. I am thankful I have his poems to look back on and reflect on who he was because it is helping me find myself again.
So, here I am, Dad. I am writing again, and it feels really good. Thank you for giving me the inspiration to feel through my words again and share my creativity with the world. You are my light in the window of my soul. I will keep the candle burning for you.