For the Love of Verse

I came late to the love of verse

Simply holding an indifference

At least at first

 

The dwindling southern summer 

Burned hot into senior year

I called on many vices to overcome her

 

Air-conditioned rooms and cold glasses did help

But nothing struck quite as cool

As those few old poems felt

 

A.E. Housman spoke to my romantic

For I am not yet One-and-Twenty

But still have known my heart to grow frantic

 

Heaney showed my ancestors stifled

That I would not be Digging the same holes

The first to not pick up the rifle

 

English class each day brought a new wonder

Another idea, another poem

Each glorifying life's triumphs; its blunders

 

I felt that as each new stanza I read

Became more and more relatable

Perhaps I could write them instead

 

In the beginning the words eluded me

I knew I wanted to write

But, just what, I could not see

 

Until a day not too much later

When something inside me simply changed

My urge to put pen to paper grew greater

 

I saw words in everything around me 

I began to focus on the good in things

Peoples' gallantry, nature's elegance; its beauty

 

When the words poured out

For the first time in ages

I had something for which to be proud

 

Something that I alone

Created. I had a gift to share with others;

Something of my own

 

There is just something about

Putting my soul in these lines

That I cannot live without

This poem is about: 
Me
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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