You dont inspire grand poetry
Yet, you have the power to enrage me.
You don't inspire grand gestures
Yet, you can sweep me off my feet.
You are my ordinary everyday love,
A blank uninspired page lending itself
To doodling in the corners.
Grand by definition some believe;
Yet, I know different.
we are eachothers 'for granted'.
A prop, a scaffold,
a rubber mould, ignored...
till our cages are rattled
Then, in a flickered memory,
Shines the extraordinary.
And that doodle explodes to life
All over the page!
But it's not poetry.