Great poetry does not attract people who love poetry.
It attracts people who long to ride atop
The crest of the Great Wave of Truth,
To lace their fingers in its mane
And let it carry them naked, bareback and frightened
To where they know not.
And rarely is it sought by such
But must sneak its way into their lives from unexpected sources:
A movie, an advertisement, a song.
And then it haunts them ever after with the thought
That they have seen, have heard, the Truth once spoken
And can never again pretend that they have not.