White. White. White.

The sky never ends
it goes on father than the sun
Stretching father than you'll ever see
With infinite snowflakes
Falling, falling, falling
nothing you can do, to stop, stop, stop it

Arms spread wide
Tongue catches the frozen particles
Eyes squeezed shut against the world

The world that is bigger than you'll
ever be, be, be
In that moment
you are small, small, small
Just a speck on the
grand spectrum of
life the universe and everything
everything, everything
You have your time slot in forever
do what you can
before you wash away, away, away
in the flood of white
White snow.

White sky.
White houses
sidewalks
grass
trees
A white world.
White.
White,
White.

What is Camp?

It's
waking up to chiming bells
and groans surrounding you
and a rising sun.

It's
singing so loud everyone is heard
trying to play a speed card game quietly
running around in a old ball gown and magicians hat
glitter in your hair
getting a mud facial in a creek
hugs
laughing in the rain
Chuckles Benedict

It's
the taste of
instant oatmeal
sweet potato biscuits
morning dew
open woods

It's
the sound of
slamming screen doors
screams of laughter
strums of guitar
clanking plates
purring cicadas
roaring campfires

It's
the feel of
wind on your face
hands holding yours
cold splash of the creek
dirt smooshed between toes
sun between leaves

It's
the love
of love

Suffocation

The cold keeps snatching at my ankles,

My flip flops clicky-clack

on the vacant pavement

I fight to catch my breath that whips itself away from me

The tears fall

slowly- my vision is left somewhere behind me-

crawling down my cheek

onto my neck and heaving chest, still without air

Silently, with no rhythm to this pain

it washes oven me in waves, receding before it really hits

Silently; for no one must know

Trapped,

a glass dome encloses me

A poisonous gas condensing into an impenetrable fog

The sun behind these clouds. It wants to break through;

I said the fog was

Impenetrable.

Hope

crushed by the slam of Pandora's box.

Opequon

That's how I remember it. In flashes of all my senses. The smell of a burning flames and smoke that continues to cling to your clothes till morning. The purr of cicadas and roar of night. The feel of a hand, of everyone's hand as we stand in a slowly tightening circle, eyeing the steaming food. The sight of attentive eyes; of eyes that care; eyes that will catch your fall. Taste the love of five workers. You can't take just one bite; you eat in heaps. I can feel the presence of joy, radiating from peoples smiles as steady as the sun. There's a warmth at this place called camp. A warmth you can't get anywhere else, no matter how sunny the day is. It's walking onto a stage where everyone's the star and there are no judges. It's floating down the river, trusting the water to carry you in the right direction. It's looking down from the top of a mountain you just conquered. It's free falling into love. That's how I remember it.

Oh, the Horror

Poetry is terrifying

it will expose you

The rawness of you emotion

a slap in the face

Many say it's too

cryptic,

long and boring

Maybe you can't read it 

if you don't have enough soul to 

see into someone elses

I know

I know,

more poetry.

I'm not apologizing.