Ancient Stories I Once Wrote

The Tale of Tyrel, a Male out of Jail.

So this rough diamond appeared on my Facebook page today. I thought I wrote this for college for a challenge, but I guess I did it nearly ten years ago, where the challenge was to use only ONE rhyme sound (and near-rhymes) as often as possible and create some sort of story. 

A later version of this ALSO had 21 syllables in each line, but I have no idea where it is but I’ll post it when I find it. But for now, enjoy the Director’s Cut!

Ancient Stories I Once Wrote

The Tale of Tyrel, a Male out of Jail.

My name is Tyrel, and I’m going to tell, of a time that I easily got out of jail.
How did I prevail? I can’t merely tell and I have to say that you would probably fail.

One day the guard Dale, was walking and fell, and while he did wail his lip started to swell.
He said “Oh holy grail! Why be I so frail!” I sensed in him ail, the visage he had being all white and pale.

As slow as a snail, I reached through the rail and grabbed what felt like it must be a bell.
This holy grail, meant you this frail male Dale? Your ail where you fail will make me prevail!

With time growing stale, there was not time to wail, quickly I had to blaze this dead trail!
At first all went well, then a yell “You aren’t Dale!” the source of the yell, something I must quail!

Like the first-class mail, this Dale saw me sail, out of the jail, and straight out of Hell!
I stayed on a trail, ‘til I knew it not well, and suddenly ran into a rather large male.

“My name’s Christian Bale.” I heard the male tell, a man no mistake was not a frail Dale.
Cared I for his tale? Not when fresh out of jail, and I told Christian Bale “Go straight down to Hell.”

Not knowing Bale well, the male grabbed me with a yell, “Now you go to a place where no cab you can hail!”
And with that Christian Bale threw me into a deep well.

But I fell on… a whale?
Ha, Christian Bale! Tyrel did prevail, he never can fail, you slimy old snail!

On that whale I did sail, down an underground trail until I arrived at the town of Fontraile.
Thank you kind whale, sending me through the dell, my means of escape from that old wretched well!

I walked through Fontraile, a town hard to spell well, could you believe who I saw, Ha, not Christian Bale!
It was Walter Winchell, reporter tell-tale, and beside then I inhale a kind of good smell!

“Hi Walter Winchell, my name is Tyrel, I wonder have you any baked goods to sell?”
“Tyrel, and a male… I wonder are you the same that I heard did sail out of jail?”

“I did sail on a whale, and met Christian Bale. Know you that he would yell at a male reading Braille?
“Surely you aren’t well, for I know Christian Bale, he built a monorail for those needing Braille!”

All was not well, I could easily tell, and I knew I must bid Walter Winchell farewell!
“Farewell sir Winchell, you’re right I’m not well, I ate a blue scale with a taste rather stale!”

Away from Fontraile, I did flail with no trail until I fell over a yellow lunch pail.
A yellow lunch pail? Within Ginger Ale? Through what sort of veil had I Tyrel fell?

Besides Ginger Ale, there was also a quail, within that lunch pail that I did also unveil.
It had an odd smell, that oddly placed quail, so I tossed that stale quail, right over the rail.

Over the rail came an overweight male, with the appearance of one who once went to Yale.
And on the drail of the male was the very same quail, that stale quail that I’d tossed right over the rail!

“Make reason prevail, do not send a quail, over a rail for someone you may nail.”
My look did look stale, and I wanted to bail, but I tripped on the lid of the yellow lunch pail!

Then the male from Yale, I did hear him yell,
“By chance are you he whom they tell is Tyrel?”

I ran from sir Yale and he could not prevail,
And boy did he wail, “TYREL! TYREL!” As he chased at pace that could rival a snail.

My name is Tyrel, I escaped from jail, but how Yale knew, I couldn’t quite tell.
I ran down a path with no trail, when there in a sudden I read “Welcome to Crail.”

Inside of Crail, I moved like a gale, when all of sudden it started to hail!
And it fell, fell, fell, all over poor Crail! Oh how swell, how swell was the this gale around Crail!

“There is Tyrel, the bloke from the jail!” I heard some angry old townspeople yell.
I backed up and did quail, it seemed I would fail, when I thought I could take the near brail and rappel

And rappel I did well, away from Crail and the ever enlarging golf ball sized hail!
I thought it went well but I could never foretell that below would be something unwell…

The frail male Dale! I could instantly tell, that things were about to become quite unwell.
Above they dumped ale, in one was a nail, and below was to fail by the frail male named Dale!

They would never prevail! Tyrel would not fail!
Then came the male from near Yale with the quail.

He yelled with the gail, “Ha ha, Tyrel, you’ve been Caught by the snail!”  and seeing the snail, I must have done fail.
And he threw down at me the yellow lunch pail, And I fell, fell, fell… Right on top of the frail male named Dale.

“It’s over Tyrel, now come back to jail! Do not force me to pell you, Tyrel!”
“Aren’t You the frail Dale? You cannot prevail!” I taunted, I shouted, I laughed and did yell.

But Dale did flail out, a sheet of chain mail, and an item I did know was meant to impale.
“I give in frail Dale, I’ll go back to jail! But know it was from you that I escaped from that Jail!”

The townsfolk of Crail, they cried and did wail, “Hooray bad Tyrel, you’ll go back to jail!”
The fat male from Yale, he brandished his quail, “Goodbye grim Tyrel, I will see you in Hell!”

My arms did not flail; I did not yell, I was simply defeated, brought back by male Dale.
And now where I hail, is back in that jail, while outside grins smugly that once frail male Dale.

My name is Tyrel, and one day I’ll tell, of the time when forever I got out of jail.

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