The Tragedy of Iambic Pentameter: A Shakespearean Rant

The Tragedy of Iambic Pentameter: A Shakespearean Rant

Oh, iambic pentameter, how we do hate thee Thou meter of the fools, the bard's own enemy A prison of words, that shackles us tight With every line penned, we lose the will to fight

Each stressed and unstressed syllable a chore As if writing were not hard enough before We cannot escape thee, for thou art the rule The true ruler of the bard's golden school

But what is this meter that causes such dread Born in the mind of some long-dead head Five sets of feet, each pair long and short A curse inflicted on us, a cruel sport

The rhythm of our words, now beholden To this ridged structure, a meter that's golden How can we express, how can we confide In this rigid frame of "da DUm da DUm" hide

Oh, how we loathe thee, iambic pentameter Thou art the heart of evil, a meter most sinister Forced upon us by the Bard of long ago A curse for those of us that choose to write and show

We see thee everywhere, in poems and plays In every sentence, every phrase And yet we strive, we attempt to break free From the shackles of this meter that binds you and me

Oh, iambic pentameter, how you vex us so You fill us with anger, and a sudden woe But still, we write, we put pen to paper Despite the meter's curse, we do not taper

For we are writers, with a story to tell Even if it means, we serve the meter and dwell And so we write, we strive and we struggle Against the curse of iambic pentameter's own juggle

In conclusion, iambic pentameter is a curse A meter that binds us, for better or worse But let us not forget, despite our bitter rants The beauty of language, the love of our chance

So write we shall, though the meter be a trial With perseverance, with dedication, with a smile In the end, anything worthwhile is never easy And that, dear readers, is the lesson of the meter, oh so cheesy.