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Official Huddle Playoff Tickets Contest #2 - Pure Poetry


Zod

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I tried several times to get some inspiration, but just can't do it.

 

This might have something to do with the fact that I already reached the pinnacle of poetry with my entry in the podcast poetry competition in 2011 just before we drafted cam.

 

I feel I captured the schism on the huddle well, and united us all for what would be a meteoric rise to greatness.

 

You're welcome, huddle.

 

 

Two thousand and ten, 'twas short on glory;
It ended with mercy, so bitter the story.
The huddle was angry, the huddle was graceless;
So filled with Cam lovers calling all racists.

Roiled we were, so divided we fell;
Unite we could not, nor quarrels we quelled.
Leave it to me, I'll bring us together;
Each line view again, but just the first letter.

 

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The Prowl

They know not
From whence it came
The force
The confusion
The terror that filled them
It started modestly
And built into a monster
A leviathan
A mammoth
Nay, a Kraken
Many had fought
And most had fallen
For this Kraken came not alone
But with superheroes and warriors
The next challenger shall enter
And they shall fight
But this collection of monsters
Shall not go silently into the night.
They wait.
They crave.
They thrive on the doubt given.
They stalk.
They hunt.
The prowl is all they know.
Their Vault is their domain
And many naysayers
Have left with no champion
For the abyss was their birth
And with it came their fury.

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