I cannot rhyme
I cannot write
A poem that requires the rhymes of time
I have a sense of rhythm, but no sense in one of this height
In another dimension maybe
One I can rhyme
But that would also be crazy
Because climbing the highest mountain to climb
Because growing a daisy
Would be easier then getting me to rhyme
And if you say otherwise, your brain may be hazy
Because rhyming for me is like trying to talk to a mime
They wouldn’t respond, and wouldn’t answer the question
Truthfully I don’t know why I answer
My poem is as bad as a trash can trying to freshen
The air, in a city, full of a Santa with prancer
But prancer is dying a terrible death, and the air is lessen
So there, here you go, a unhealthy poem that tries to answer
The lifelong question of why Jack cannot rhyme
Though it answers nothing, it just gives you lancer
A new type of disease, birthing from this rhyme as old as time
And before I go, let me tell you the answer
Just don’t let Jack rhyme, because the rhyme has no rhyme.