Rhyming's Blase
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I've gathered you all here today;
to lament rhyming poetry's death.
Fledgling poets feel it's blasé;
regardless of its rhythm and breath.
Lyrical poetry's called cliché,
though it's been recited for years.
For now, there's a different way
of expressing cheers, fears, and tears.
Exiled to the pages of time;
rhyme died as its critics shunned it.
And its once clear distinctive chime;
was stripped of its rapier wit.
Beloved, and yet inked by few,
it has slipped into history.
But, when I hear what rhyme can do,
its death evokes a mystery.
Rhyme was laid to rest by freestyle;
lift your pens, and bid it adieu!
Yet, visit it once in a while;
and perhaps write a line or two.
Copyright © Emile Pinet | Year Posted 2015
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