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
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