Should you debase,  the structure in place,
which seemingly lives here without a trace?
Or see with due cause, the untimely flaws
which poets detect and mold without pause?

What are we to do? I have a wide view
of what should be done in poetic tune.
But the fools of today would take that away,
and tell us rhyme has long since had it's day.

Just imagine a while, each scribe has a style.
Is it right for them to blindly defile
a brave institution, which came to fruition
long before they even held an ambition

to fight against rhyme. To fight against time.
Oh... to see their mad schemes is surely a crime.
So I ask of my muse, 'What way would you choose?'
But she turns away, for fear she should lose.

It sits, plain to see, conveying to me,
a message that writing is drowning... silently.
If you relax your pen, step backward and then
you'll see the rhythm the world is, and when
you finally see, the things I can see...
maybe the world will truly be free.