Paragraph

It's undeniable that the paragraph is a useful shape to organize prose into. For years, everyone from theological scholars to unscrupulous con artists have sworn by it. There's not a woman, man, child, or intelligent dog that does not use one on a daily basis. But just because the paragraph is so common does not mean than it is not under constant danger from assault. As I write this poets are lining up outside the walls of cities, armed with iambic catapults and archers who shoot fierce rhymes. I think we can withstand their force, as many of them are reliant on dues and fees to have their weapons known, and we have pots of boiling memoirs to melt their troops. Our scientists continue to write studies trying to figure out ways to rid ourselves of the poetic menace. We hope that soon we'll have developed a P-Bomb, which should be able to destroy all poetry in a 25 mile radius. We're infiltrating their readings, disguised as versifiers, disrupting their communities with prose disguised as poetry. I don't have to tell you what it would mean if they were successful. Histories would become as unread as "Paradise Lost." Students of economics would be required to assemble their graphs as concrete poetry. Our constitution itself would become an avant garde poem, where the amendments are stanzas and our rights to pursue happiness become the rights to confess our sins. We'd describe beauty but never get any closer to the truth. So, record your thoughts in paragraphs as much as possible and don't listen to those barbarians at the gate, who are trying to destroy our well organized, theme-sentenced way of life. Your un-rhymed and rhtyhm-less soul may depend on it.