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  Feb 25 Cam
Traveler
The simple act of looking
Will cause something to be
So I control my gaze
In a contemporary maze
Of love and poetry!
Cam Feb 25
Splish Splash with Tired arms
Inhale Exhale with Tired breath
Yell and Argue with Tired coach
Whine and Complain with Tired swimmers
Loud Static from a Tired radio
Bubble and Pour from a Tired coffee ***

At the pool,
sound became music, and music
a Tired cane for them to rest their weary limbs
I’m trying to read more so that I can enjoy all of your poems as well:)
  Feb 25 Cam
shianne rose
there are two types of sadness

there’s the kind of sadness
we ignore and
try to get rid of it
by finding new things to do
or we find someone to talk to
by blatantly avoiding any type of conversation
about feeling sad
about having any feelings at all
and then there’s that kind of sadness
that takes over
and it consumes any activity we do
we know it’s there
and there’s no possible way to avoid it
so we feed it exactly what it wants
it craves the sad music
it craves the isolation
it craves the anxiousness
and the sadness comes storming in
it has no manners
here we are calling sadness, an “it”
when all it is
is a feeling
that most people
call home
Cam Feb 24
It’s only a necklace.
It shouldn’t mean much at all,
yet it holds everything I can never have,
it’s all I can do not to fall.

I’m gripping onto the shadows—
to the person he left behind.
Trying to remember his voice, his smile,
to make a picture inside my mind.

Is it strange to hate someone you never knew,
yet love them all the same?
I cannot tell if this is the truth,
or if my head is playing games.

The photographs of his kids and loving wife
make me wonder if he was ever there at all,
or if he was just a ghost of self-made fiction—
the unknown will become my downfall.

The truth is, he has so many others now.
A family to call home.
So why can’t I just let it go,
and go back to my own?

It’s just one silly gift.
It shouldn’t mean so much to me.
But without remembering who I was,
how do I know who I’m supposed to be?
Was I not good enough?
Cam Jan 28
We too would sit up throughout the warm nights
and laugh around the glowing campfire light,
then twinkling eyes meet from afar
sipping cocoa remembering good times
shared with friends.  We can never go back.

We took shelter from the shadows, from the dark.
When the sparks turned to fireflies, we’d smile,
and wish upon the flickering embers,
letting our dreams float up to the sky,

Speaking with love to them,
who had given me solace
and a safe harbor among friends.
How time did leave, how time did slip us by
to leave us with only faded memories?
This poem is an imitation of the poem "Those Winter Sundays" by Robert Hayden
  Jan 19 Cam
Thomas W Case
I need to straighten
my dreams out,
they got crooked along the way.
In my frozen castle,
in this grueling winter of life,
lies in me an invincible summer
that longs to be free;
scabbed up knees and
grass stains on my soul,
it just itches to run, and
swim the rivers,
and lie long in the sun.
Cam Dec 2020
You can leave.
and push me away,
but I promise  
I will always stay,
by your side
where I belong,
‘cause even if
you do me wrong,
it’s just me and you
so I’ll see it through,
‘cause don’t ya know,
I love you.
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