The tale of the "Aging man who detests his wife and is bitter"

Hello. My name is Connor. I lack inspiration. I cannot rhyme. Here is my poem.

All are base are belong to us.

The Aging man who detests his wife and is bitter

The wise man, who escaped his wretched home
No hair protruded from beyond his dome
Nor thin waistline, the town citizens said
Nor gifted vision; not youthful – not dead
He wore black dress pants with a button down shirt
He had little clothing, color, as lively as dirt
Fifty-Two years had he walked this earth
And twelve years prior, the beast known for girth
Snagged this man from within his youthful pride
Took him to her lair, where surely, he cried
On that day she ended his free flowing life
And forced him to take her as his new wife
Once a year he traveled to the afar
Mohegan Sun, where doors remain ajar
Much relief he had, of this he was sure
To leave the clutches of a wife not pure
Whose teeth shone green like withered eel
And skin; cold, clammy, and rigid like steel
Her hair was matted; the gums of a whale
And the hairs on her back formed a great tail
Perhaps the only worse; then her appearance
Her ice cold tongue and her heart of a wench
But for one day a year, he left his home
And took pilgrimage to the Mohegan’s dome
His heart was set on the glory of kin
Of friendship, of foodship, of ale and gin
And yet something more, he would not reveal
A plan, a pact, a great secret to steal
For twelve days the aging-grumbling-Saxon
Took cover in numbers, his saving bastion