Desire

I have this desire to sit with a conclave of writers,

drinking my warm beverage of the hour,

just speaking of books, poetry, prose, music, words.

I want to be somewhere warm,

Where the sun kisses my skin

and the leaves tremor on their branches,

while we share the magic of sky and clouds;

And while I stare whimsically at the sun,

blinded by its rays of brilliant vision,

I want nothing more than for the words of beauty to soar;

And in their soaring,

freed on wings of delight,

I’ll glide,

and perhaps I’ll smile,

airy and light,

unfettered and bright,

Radiant:

Gleaming rays touching despondency,

and offering “radiancy”.

Alas,

the irony of today

is not lost on me

from my seat beneath cloud-hidden sun.

Kadeen Nichelle Oksana Waldron.

October 3, 3013.

October 3, 2013.

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