I cried when my poetic rhythm fled,

Moaned at the loss of fluidity and glossary,

But then I remembered;

Carefully comprehended…

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.