an attempt at poetry

I wrote this poem a few years back, either during my senior year in high school or the summer before I entered college. It kind of left my mind some time later, until I found it again among piles of old notebooks and other junk while I was cleaning out my dorm. It’s a juvenile attempt at poetry, seeing that I really tried to make the words rhyme and was strict with the number of syllables per line. I did fix a few lines while I was typing it, so it’s not really the original thing. Without further ado –

Awakening

The moon had long traveled
The clear night sky, and soon
The golden sun shall rise
In the east horizon.

But here I am, awake
Tossing, turning in bed.
Sleep, elusive tonight,
So sleep I try to fake.

Happy scenes play in my mind –
Two of us talking, laughing,
Remembering how we walked
In that magical evening.

How could I have been deaf
To my heart beating your name?
Was I asleep when Cupid
Breathed love into my spirit?

I guess I was deaf and asleep.
But now my ears hear clearly
And sleep has long fled my eyes.
When clear as daylight I saw love.

Oh the pain I now feel
Not knowing what to do
I see I do love you
But I have lost you forever.

Funny how prophetic this poem would become. I do know that while I was writing this a few years ago, I wasn’t exactly feeling the “emotions” I was describing. In fact, I was just feeling a teensy bit romantic and daydreaming about the future. Well, Pau, no need to daydream now. It’s happening right now, right there inside you.

*sigh* Sometimes, people just make the most stupid mistakes that they would regret for the rest of their lives. Then they realize that regretting would only make their lives more miserable, but they just can’t seem to stop thinking about it. I, for one, cannot forgive myself for that big mistake I’ve made. Other people could be lucky, though; they could still fix whatever mess they’ve made. But in my case, it’s hopeless. And I’m slowly sinking into the pits of despair.

But on the bright side, if I continue to be as miserable, maybe I could write better poems. Stories, even. Who knows, I might just get a Palanca Award or a Nobel Prize. Or maybe not.

Sing with me now. I’ll just keep on dreaming/`Til my heartaches end...