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The Campground

My First Attempt at Slam Poetry

The dying embers of originality

Soon to be snuffed by the waters of rehashed content

The new fire set ablaze by the short-lived sparks of passion

The campground of creation lively with vessels of creativity going to and fro

The campers eager to pitch their tents, the temporary houses of their ideas

The light of better things to come shining from above

Giving them a constant reminder of where they are

The eerie sounds of the night creeping in

The most timid becoming most determined

Knowing that this is the final stop, knowing they can not turn back

But hear! The wolf howls, the predators prepare to pounce

The prey must stand fast, for if they falter, all has been for naught

The light still has yet to come, the age of better things yet to grow

Time becomes the friend, time becomes the enemy

The greatest threat of all posed by suffocating veil of doubt

Descending upon all, trying to cover any remnants of their will

But oh! The will of the campers is far stronger, parting this veil

With unseen might!

They know the fire must last the night, or all shall fall to the cover of darkness

And be swept away by the predators that prey upon them

If this new fire, if these new sparks of originality can not last the night

To be seen by all those that come by morn

Then it will never be seen, the campground will be destroyed, the campers lost to us

But have no fear! For even if they lost the battle, they can still win the war!

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The Campground
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