No. 2, "Rejuvenation"

Packing and unpacking has its pros and cons.  Although it is a wearing and an exhausting process as a whole, I do treasure the forgotten items I stumble upon along the way.


Those who know me well are aware of the fact that while my short stories and prose are generally comical and positive, my poetry is quite the opposite-- often depressing and dark.  I never understood why my poems communicated somber messages, but I have always been very proud of my work despite the worry or concern it has provoked in others (teachers, mainly).  Yet, again, those who know me can attest to the fact that these poems in no way reflect my personality; au contraire, I have always valued and utilized the power of comical relief, often at my own expense.


While reorganizing my bookshelf last night, I discovered an old journal in which I would write poems that suddenly came to mind.  Every few weeks, sometimes months, I would come out of a dream inspired.  At two or three o' clock in the morning, I would sit up in my bed, reach for my journal, write for fifteen minutes, and promptly fall back onto my pillow.  In the morning, I would wake up to find my journal under the pillow, on the floor--somewhere in the vicinity of my bed--and was always surprised to discover that my scribblings were, in fact, coherent and, generally, meaningful.


One of the poems that I discovered in this journal, "Rejuvenation," is one that I wrote upon returning from Paris last summer.  Despite the jet lag and my longing for la France, I managed to piece this poem together.  Like most of my poetry, the beginning is grim; yet, what struck me most was the fact that, in contrast to my usual poems, Rejuvenation ends on a strikingly more optimistic note, perhaps reflecting my anticipation for my year abroad.


As a very appropriate theme for the beginning of summer, a time when we can relax, reflect, and slip in to rêverie, "Rejuvenation" illustrates a welcomed beginning in a time when it is most needed:

REJUVENATION

Petals pressed between the pages,

Leaving behind the scent of a better time--

When life was not a game of choice and chance

But a predestined path of intent and ambition.

Perhaps I am from another era,

Floating between the years of past and future,

Worried of what has been missed

And what is yet to come.

Yet what I seek has failed to appear,

Withholding the sense of pleasure and purpose

That is sure to make my life complete.

Instead of breaking from their brittleness,

The petals strengthen, drawing vitality from the

Freshness of the surrounding air-- rejuvenation.

The cycle is not complete, but rather, it has start anew,

Beckoning the morning dew of tomorrow.
- LMG