The Campfire

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Campfire that burns,
a sign of hope.
Allowing us to see,
to feel from the heart.

The light that glows,
giving all peace.
A sense of kindness,
a feeling for justice.

Warmth that's given off,
calming the soul.
We shall sleep,
rest for a new day.

The sound of crackling,
giving a sense of joy.
A smile on every one's faces
as they clap to the beat.

Everyone around the campfire,
sing many songs.
They found the joy they seek,
coming from their love within.
I will always fight back, no matter what.




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Don't be so preachy. This is just reeking of "I'm going to tell you how you should feel and how you should look at life." For poetry, this is a big no-no. Instead of telling us what you want to say, tell us what reminds you of what you want to say. If the image, memory, smell, sense, etc., is strong enough, we'll get the hint without you pounding a sledge hammer on our heads, as you're doing now.
Ubi caritas est vera, Deus ibi est.

"The mark of your ignorance is the depth of your belief in injustice and tragedy. What the caterpillar calls the end of the world, the Master calls the butterfly." ~ Richard Bach

Moth and Myth <- My comic! :D




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I'll try that next time, thanks.
I will always fight back, no matter what.




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I agree with snoink, and I also think your poetry is improving noticably - it's really great the way you take people's suggestions and constructive criticism and work with it. :D My own suggestion for this poem would be to enhance the parts of the poem where you're describing the campfire - those were the bits that were the most powerful, I thought, but they lacked reality a little. They seemed almost too perfect to be real. At the campfires and bonfires my family has, everyone isn't always smiling, we're usually teasing someone about something, someone is typically wandering around in the dark bumping into things looking for a marshmallow stick, my pessimistic uncle is probably reminding us that it'll rain tonight and we should pack up soon, and while we do lots of singing, especially when my sister brings her violin and my dad's got his guitar, it rarely happens that we all sit around clapping to the beat, since someone's goofing off and my grandpa is tone deaf and my cousin and aunt can't sing worth beans, or even clap a simple rhythm. More specific details would paint for us a less generic picture, and I think that would lend emphasis to your poem.


^^^Sorry that's so long, I got a little distracted from the point... :lol:
“It is one of life's bitterest truths that bedtime so often arrives just when things are really getting interesting.” - Lemony Snicket




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At least I'm getting there.
I will always fight back, no matter what.



Poems were like people. Some people you got right off the bat. Some people you just don't get - and never would get.
— Benjamin Alire Saenz, Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe