I cried when my poetic rhythm fled,
Moaned at the loss of fluidity and glossary,
But then I remembered;
The fires I drank that led there,
The swamps of despair and desolation which changed me,
And then the new voice was worth it
A tone spoken and written with pride,
A rhythm worthily acknowledged;
And thus I spoke “thanks”,
Smiling gratitude grimly.
No longer mincing words through gritted teeth,
Nor saving feels’ thro’ fettered tongue;
There was freedom, and there is liberty;
And so while I mourned the death of the tone
– grumbling at the change of pace-
I embrace it,
and flaunt it.
Kadeen Nichelle Oksana Waldron.
November 10, 2013.