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,
and perhaps I’ll smile,
airy and light,
unfettered and bright,
Gleaming rays touching despondency,
and offering “radiancy”.
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.