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.
