Would it be a crime if I chose not to rhyme?

Perhaps I could let this poem simply roam

Meandering on it's way as it's trying to say

Something that mimes my muse in her prime

Make it a tome that was born from my dome

That will be the day that I will shout out yay

Because that which I spat did not fall flat

So no I will not create a flow without show

Look and see how ugly my words are free

From the need to repeat simple syllables

With no trace of phonetic fun it has no place

In my art, so I'm appalled to call that a fart

While a pile of style has guile for miles of trials

This proves a kiss of grooving bliss behooves

The sublime lil home where my words now lay

Critique One 

Critique Two