BLANKETY-BLANK VERSE

Alas it is a chore to write Blank Verse Unable to peruse my rhyme filled purse In search for words not better but not worse A sad lament of poetry’s last curse To stab the darkness with an ill-used phrase Twisting the reader’s mind into a maze Of flaming thought a-dance within a blaze Torching the rules by which a poet plays Oh, Rhyme, cold torturer of frigid muse Why must you heap upon him such abuse Require him to use words so obuse That they cannot uncover his shrewd ruse The truth, perhaps they’ll stumble upon it If it rhymed the damn thing’d be a Sonnet