Alone, the wolf he prowls
Upon his pelt.. rests something foul
The blood of a man
The mark from its hand
Grasping.. his pelt like a towel
-Limerick
By: Cameron Ponce
Alone, the wolf he prowls
Upon his pelt.. rests something foul
The blood of a man
The mark from its hand
Grasping.. his pelt like a towel
-Limerick
By: Cameron Ponce
If you want to sit down with me
And discuss the marginal error,
You’ll soon find it hard to believe
That your conscience is made up of terror.
Your friend would likely kill you
To seize a million bucks,
What else would he be willing to do
If he was down a bit on his luck?
We make these dangerous choices
That will claim our lives one day
So Mr. Reaper, we sing to the voices
“That’s God” some people will say.
But whether it’s God or whether it’s not
The marginal error, has only one to be off.
-Sonnet
By: Cameron Ponce
A dream key can save all souls of the dark,
Like a skeleton key, master of arts.
Dreamers are born, not just made like a tart.
With the key they see, all evils at part.
All paths are foreseen, and the sea, a dream.
Don’t tend to have fear, this key is pristine.
Have good faith that it will serve, slave, and clean.
Dream keys can dream, an inceptor’s regime.
A dreamer will gleam with fire in their eye,
But a wielder will breeze through center fight.
A god, deity, a great man alike.
The philosopher’s stone, hard to defy.
Dream keys exists in a realm unalike.
If you meet Mr. Riddler, death do part.
-Sonnet, Free Verse
By: Cameron Ponce
Fly or flee, flight for fun.
Oh little bird, oh what have you won?
The sky is the limit, but even for you,
Height is a factor, Oxygen.. food.
Fly too low, and you’re bound to be maimed,
Fly too little, and you’re bound to be tamed.
The sky’s not the limit, just a cage from above.
Fly free bird, oh fly away dove.
– Free Verse
By: Cameron Ponce
Were people simultaneously numb?
When they heard the bang and the blot,
That didn’t stop beating on drums
With the sinister plot in the lyrics
A new divide, he shouted and sung
He was one step closer to bleedin’ it out,
Afraid of what he’d become?
In the end he was in a castle of glass
Then burned it down, a faint spirit to pass
“Mr. Bennington, what have you done?”
-Ode
By: Cameron Ponce
Oh ye of little faith,
Who needs the mass to win the race.
You want your youth,
But would buckle to truth
The identity of the modern slave.
-Limerick