Great’s quake

I know great ain’t always what we see MoMa using for wall paper,

Nor speech, screeched at Bard’s balcony’s feet, the only measure of love

Or that love must always seem neat or easy or even complete,

Or that Romeo has to sip the drink or Juliet slip in the knife

Or that their fate is the only way souls like theirs can find peace,

Or that the embassy that connects must always be comic relief

To keep this fool’s tale from becoming tragic,

But I do know only a fool would ignore great when it shakes the world

A quake that makes the bones ache and the heart race,

And fills that space of mind so otherwise wasted

Nor should I be so proud as to not accept those small tokens

Cast out from the passing carriage with the great one inside,

Those small gifts given to humbled masses like me,

And I’m not so stupid (though I might appear that way at times)

As to believe I’m not a better person for all of it.