On the Mockery of Free Verse Poetry

I reserve no respect for poems without rhyme. In them, I would invest not even a dime. Writing in free verse is so simple—so easy, That reading it is certain to make me feel queasy. The question we must ask ourselves, Is “What belongs up on our shelves?” Why do some compose refuse? There are better styles to choose! Writing with rhythm requires more skills; A beat is the life-blood that free verse spills! However one may feel inside, Meter is the tool and guide. If one does write without a rhyme, It’s his depressing paradigm! I despise short poems, crippled and leaning, Which struggle in vain to contain a meaning. Tales of darkness and bitter end— Poor depiction destroys the blend. Depressing are the stories—what’s more: the skill, Or lack thereof! What poems fulfill Is the duty to express, but not words alone. The language untamed does make me moan With an aching sadness for poets lost. Mediocrity comes at a heavy cost. I hold, for these poems, an unrestrained disdain And I pray to God they will cease to remain. Yet my work is flawed, but with sound reasoning. Every good poem deserves some seasoning. Poetry is a sacred creation, Which some believe can bring salvation, But tainted is this form of literature In the hands of a petty amateur. Are these "poets" blind as moles? Or are they lacking in their souls?