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: 
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 


Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741