Hannah

17

Camp:

I find it here,
Unravelled by the striking darkness,
Or screams of mating insects by still water.
Here, is where the movement comes to die,
But rather explodes from unknown captivity.
And in this place,
The music can shatter car windows,
While I hear the rambling of rascals in the background.
Then at midnight, one is faced with a choice:
Sleep or Poetry,
But how can one choose when the two must co-exist for human survival?
Because a man sleeps to validate his energy for words.
It is here,
Where communication dwells within the eyes of young lovers,
And teary dreams.