Clouds& Darkness: Contemplation On The Train Ride Home

When I’m lying in my bed,

I stare at the ceiling.

I lie there, cloaked in darkness.

Sometimes it chokes me,

At others, it holds me gently:


tenderly filling me with love and wisdom.

Those are the moments,

The beautiful ones in which the fan is whirring,

When my thoughts are roaming poetically,

Sometimes lyrically.

Those are the hours,

The minutes in time when I am “me”

The little one who loves

The girl who is neither afraid nor vulnerable,

Those are the nights

when I can feel love

coursing through my veins,

The temporary swing on the edge of the moon,

Traipsing on fluffy clouds.


Those cottony darlings who remind me of Sara,

Of friendship and cotton candy,

Late night blog posts

Weaving threads and connections.

It  is when I’m lying in my bed

With the creamy-light ceiling above me,

Showing me words and answers–

With memories and impressions,

Those midnight hours through the 3 a.m. musings,

That I love and hate the darkness.

Kadeen Nichelle Oksana Waldron

Thursday, September 12, 2013. 21.34hrs




Have you ever seen wood rot before your eyes?

Ages and years fall apart before their time?

Grand rises of opulence and light

Dim slowly in the presence of sun and life?


It’s funny isn’t it?

The way life fades even with the hands of nurture

How dust collects even as the world moves round and round

How shadows fall and eyes stare wide and blank

Even as the heart takes more and more.


I’ve seen it today.

Well, I’ve seen it always.


Watched as the lights dimmed.

Listened as the voices grew hoarse.

Grimaced as the dark circles grew.

Those abominable bags that won’t go away.


Sick of mind, and soul and body.

So they say.

Young yet.

So they say.

Everything ahead of you.

So they say.


Yet like the world before

And the world after

They will stand and see

See with clarity and worry

As the death slips in between the life

Whisper silent prayers

As the unseen disease burns behind dull eyes.


T’ is dilapidation.

Death of life amidst life.



Kadeen Nichelle Oksana Waldron

Sunday, March 10, 2013 6.38 p.m.

Early Morning Humiliation

Hot. Hot. HOT. Yesterday afternoon was sweltering. I got home, sat infront of lappy and refused to heed my internal reminders to head to the gym. Why the hickory would I? After all I was already sitting in a sweaty “glow” without the exertion of fruitful exercise. As I sat in the one official summer dress I own, Sara and I made grandiose plans for the Sugar Clouds Club. All this weighty mental exertion, and excruciatingly humid air, made me super thirsty. So after two bowls of cereal, I proceeded to drink half of the delicious Cranberry juice. Realising that I would need regular water to supplement the hydration process, I began to fill my teacup with water. And so it went back and forth all evening, until approximately twelve a.m.

Now if you were part of my immediate family, your first bit of advice to me would be to empty the ol’ two gallon tank before I head to bed. Being me, I would of course offer a look of disdain and slam my door shut. However, considering my history of bed-wetting (a thing I think I’ve overcome), that would be valuable advice. The ironic thing is, now that I’m almost 18, no one has had the pleasure of doing so in quite awhile, so instead my wonderful subconscious friends(Kat and Kittya) took over the delightful task. Knowing that I wouldn’t be going to sleep until two, I decided to ignore the advice. After all, I certainly didn’t have the urge to go “potty” and I would be up long enough to unload any excess. Upon the end of the movie at two, I promptly fell asleep. Oh, little did I know.

I woke with a start this morning. I really, really, really wanted to go back to sleep. There were still ten minutes left until** Uncle SLF would be done with the bathroom. I rolled over and realised that it was hopeless. There was no way I would be able to go back to sleep, because…..I really, really, really had to “pee”. -______- Irritated I jumped from the bed, grabbed my towel, and sprinted for the door. Holding my towel against me with one arm, hopping from one leg to the other, I twised and turned the stupid lock until it opened. “Yes!!” my mind screamed, “made it with time to spare!!!” Then I looked up. I had made it out of my room, but the bloody bathroom was still occupied. Utter desperation raced through me. For the love of dear God!!! I really, really, had to go!! I knocked on the door, calling out my need in strangled tones. There I was, hopping from leg to leg, skittering from one end of the hall to the other, only to hear the wonderful news. My uncle was also using the “watercloset“, for the longhaul.

My friends, I hopped, and skipped, and jumped, and danced. Looking every inch the fantabulous idiot. Knowing that I probably might not make it, I ran back to the bedroom, grasping my towel in place. I looked around frantically. What the hickory could I do? It was too early to run down to my aunt and uncle’s, in my towel at that! Even so, I just might not make it down the stairs. My tank was so full that the old cross and hold trick just wasn’t working. I bounced and fretted. If I wet the bloody floor, there would be a mess to clean up after. If I stood in the hall, and it happened I would be blasted by mother. I didn’t see any sanitary cups in my room. The danged plastic bottles were all too small to attempt the ol’ camping feat. I was about to combust in pain and sheer desperation. Then, my eyes fell on the dirty towel in my laundry pile. Jackpot!

I dropped the folded towel on the floor. If I couldn’t hold on, atleast there would only be a towel to witness the humiliation. I bounced, and crossed. Danced and skipped, and finally with tears in my eyes I gave up the battle.


**not “the” uncle

Raging Fire

Glowing embers

Reflected in the mirror;

Symbols of the flames

That burn deep within;


By resentment


By betrayal


By emotions

Surpressed deep within.





Engulfing every dry blade,

lingering in its path.


By the heat


In its smoke




As it burns deep within.

Flame-like claws leap


Through the forest


With barbaric fierceness.



Searching for a hold



Begging for its fill.

White, white heat

Melting to the touch.



Leashed behind

Red, red

Glowing red embers,

Reflected in the mirror.

Kadeen Nichelle Oksana Waldron

Friday, May 11, 2012.

Graveyard of Secrets

I know something you do not.

I see things you cannot.

I hear things you should not.

Shall I tell you a secret?

A cryptic missive of days gone by?

Should I whisper?

Whisper of things too oft left un-sound?

I wish I could

But maybe,

Perhaps not.

T ‘is better left on lips sealed shut.

Closed tight in young sepulchre.

T ‘is better buried under dirt and grime.

Coffin of darkness for secrets as dark as mine.

Nails of doubt

Boards of fear

Decaying satin laced with shame

Hidden under the grave

Of this innocent face.

Should I dig a little deeper?

Uproot the skeletons of the past?

The stories of history,

That mock my tainted mind?

Should I display,

The rotting yellow bones?

Or perhaps,

We can glance at the maggots;

The little friends that play,

Where vibrant eyes once lay.

I’ll tell you one secret.

Take a searching glance in the darkness.

Let us peek at the headstones,

Glowing dingy in the moon’s shadow.

I’ll read you what it says,

“Here lieth the bones, of innocents once living.”

Kadeen Nichelle Oksana Waldron

Friday, May 11, 2012. 18:52 hrs