An Amalgam of Assonance and Alliteration

An amalgam of assonance and alliteration 

beckons beyond my border's last bastion. 

As I choke on the chimes in the church chorus, 

I don't see the doves, how do they adore us? 

Every morsel I eat is beaten and eaten, 

and finding those flavours fulfils me so fulsome. 

Generating grand gravitas engrosses my ego, 

yet to harness humility hugely hampers my hero. 

I exhibit invidiousness while inside my flock, 

but make jokes like the jester whose jail is the stocks. 

Killing me calmly inside my cool crust, 

is a life lived with largess, and no love for my lust.

I move as a man might with minor emote, 

I never know nothing, need you not note.

I'm on my own, so lonely, something I don't promote. 

People need people to pick and to poke.

I quietly acquiesce to keeping the quorum, 

but an unruly riot wrecks the decorum.

As a shitbag, I suffer, slowly and surely, 

to topple my temper my team tries to cure me.

Under their guise of lugging my lumber,

is the veil of the vacuous envisaged asunder.

We win when we know the truth of the wondrous, 

and the excitement exceeds the excellence of the hundreds.

You know I'm a boy, and my joy it does yearn 

for the zeitgeist, the zenith, the azure of my Zion.