Who Needs Rhymes?

Hello all, and welcome back to the Shield! Today, I’m going to do something a little bit different, and share with all y’all a poem I have written. The general idea is that each couplet (two lines) will rhyme, but only visually. That is, each pair of ending words look like they should rhyme, but don’t. Just reading the poem can show how ridiculous English is, but to get the full effect, you should read it aloud and try to preserve the rhyming couplets. Happy bewilderment!

Who Needs Rhymes?
There once lived a man in thy fair city
Filled with unbounded creativity,
Which led him to an early tomb,
Buried with nought but a simple comb.
His story to thee I shall now relate
myself, not through some delegate,
For ‘twould be an offense to thine gracious eyes
To not write this down anon, indeed yes!
And so here begins my lowly fable,
Told in a manner most amicable.

“Of twenty yeer of age he was, I gesse.
Of his stature he was of evene lengthe,
And wonderly deliver, and greet of strengthe.”
Chaucer’s description shall serve for now,
For the story is like a fully drawn bow,
And must be told anon.

This man once had a thought,
Grand in scope, although’t
Knew not he. All the man wanted
Was to create a surface slanted
With which to set up a contrived hoax
Against his friend, a great wielder of the ax.
And so he bought and sought to destroy
Many metals to find the perfect alloy
For this ramp that is to appear as glass,
But be sturdier than a guitar bass.

The man’s plan was to roll down some steel drums,
In hopes of curing his friend’s doldrums.
But before any action could be done,
Another man, yea only one,
Had discovered the materials in this alloy
And so earnestly planned to deploy
Made of this metal a fearsome weapon.
Oh! What a grand sight is the other’s creation,
His plan is simple, to fool by a real “glass canon,”
To kill those who laugh at his ineptitude anon.
“What idiot would make a weapon of glass?”
Say guards, stopping their mimicry of the guitar bass.

This other, Alcorian, was a retired general,
A man seemingly of span most temporal,
By which I refer to the advanced age,
Of Alcorian, who lives in a remote cottage.
His first use of the weapon was out of fear,
Against a dangerous, charging grizzly bear.
‘Twas a success, and so he felt no more dread,
And so sat in his cottage and began to read.
Next day, Alcorian set off to the hospital,
Intent on creating the need for a great memorial.
He walked, pulled out the weapon, and said,
“Give me all your money, punks!” To which the aid
Of security paid no heed, unwilling to confront a gun of glass.
But after it went off, oh look how they cry!
Yet the man took great sacks of money, for none dared to proffer outcry.

This went on and on and on, all through the country,
it could not go on forever though, no matter how Alcorian may try.
Yea at the great bank of thy fair city, our first man back fought,
And great to behold was although’t,
Both died in the struggle ensuing.
When the police came there was no arguing
On this fact. So it was said that both died,
And even political rivals for this case were allied,
So no one was convicted. Thus ends my tale,
I hope thee like the of my order poetic rationale.

About Ben Buyer 11 Articles
Howdy-ho! My name is Ben Buyer, and my interests are pretty eclectic, ranging from Latin, to old video games, to The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim (which some consider old), to South Park (and to a lesser extent, Futurama and The Simpsons), to Magic: the Gathering™. So, yeah, th-th-th-that's all, folks!

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