I better write this
While it is not compelling me, but
Impelling me to.
While not knowing why,
I have an idea,
What it’s about.
The day only comes once a year,
The smell of it, I know.
What it’s about I don’t.
So, what does today mean, to me?
A rather lonely sojourn?
While everyone’s in the know?
Why should I bother?
But I do. The day is another beautiful day
Isn’t this why we are free to celebrate,
Because it is another beautiful day?
Unhinged, unfettered.
Unleased with light.
Since that day many years ago.
Talking Writing 