I must smell like a poet, you see
strings of words just follow me around
like eager hounds along a hound trail
they pick up my scent then
hit me with their sense and soul and sound.
When I think of all the years
my ears were deaf to this strange music,
it doesn’t ever make me sad, but smile.
Overburdened with the things I thought I ought to do
I shut them out, these word-hounds on my trail.
But now I welcome them, these eager word-hounds:
Through streams of senseless, ceaseless noise they come;
talk is meaningless and chatter is prismatic
turning to face them
I am welcomed home.
© Experimentsinfiction 2021, All Rights Reserved
Written for dVerse
Tonight, Peter is hosting Meeting the Bar and has asked us to think about first lines. I thought of the first line of this poem a few days ago, and I thought it might do nicely for this prompt.