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.