I've been writing poetry consistently and publicly since April 1st. And now after poem number 15, I realise how much poetry there is in my life. It's made me appreciate everyone and everything around me even more. I realise the value of things so much more because I have to think about what dwells below just their surface beauty/ugliness. I'm finding the experience extremely rewarding, and eye-opening.
The ritual of seeking and inevitably finding, of looking for inspiration when I think I've been bled dry by my muse, and then finding it, always surprises me. As I finish each poem I sit back, wondering, "Where did that come from?" and sit forward again, daring to ask, "What's next?"