This will make no sense.
It cannot be broken down.
Into metaphors and meaning,
Because there are none.
I intended this to be dull,
So please just leave it.
I don't want some scholar,
In one hundred years time,
To dissect each line
And decide what I'm feeling.
There is nothing here.
It's a literary cul-de-sac
And as empty as Green Land.
So do not read on
In hope of revelations,
There is no dramatic turn
Or cliffs from which to hang.  
So goodbye and I'm sorry,
You've wasted your time
But you should have known anyway
Because real poets can rhyme.