Ode to the Rhyming Bard

O, predictable bard who intrinsically rhymes,
How do you keep rhyming in your thought-dulled times?
Do you look for words that do not quite fit?
Or make a very long line waffling on until you can find something that suitably goes with it?
You can drone on and on without thought or care,
And go off on a tangent, like the style of your hair,
Do you point out the flaws in political farce?
Or resort to profanity, straight from your... mind?
Can you write about hate, or sickness? Demise?
Can you place a dear reader up amongst the skies?
Can you unlock emotions from mere humble words?
While you join the fields of the conforming herds?
Restriction and timing and false regulation,
Are synonyms for literary degradation.
O, predictable bard who writes without care,
It's a shame that your stories don’t go anywhere.