Unexpected Epiphany

So, today I had a test for the course of American Short Story I've been taking this semester in the University. This caused me to read a lot of short stories last night, and, therefore, set my mind in a mood of arts and creating and inspiration and all that sort of uselessness when trying to study. Anyhow, this is not the main issue. The main issue is what happened after the test.


Firstly, after I had finished my test I sat on a bench for some half an hour waiting for my friend to finish as well. During this time, as is usual for me, I took out my personal notebook and started flipping through the pages, reading the poems I have gathered there - both mine and from some more notable authors.
Eventually, I came across the one I wrote right before writing the 'Writer's Lover'. It was, actually what gave me inspiration to the story of Sparks to Flames, and in 'Writer's Lover' one can see several of the same images as in this particular poem. It originally had no name, since I completely abandoned it right after writing, since it seemed.... not worth it. Lacking the 'it' factor, or whatever. Today it got a name, however, 'Mountains', and I will be posting it during the weekend to Antold Story. As you can see, after reading it today I noticed how I actually enjoy it quite a bit, the freshness and all that. I first thought about naming it 'Summer', but that would go too closely with 'Spring', and people might imagine it to be a continuation or a part of a series, when it has absolutely nothing to do with the other poem.

Here is the poem:  

Mountains

Sometimes I wish I could jump into a story,
just fall into a dream,
into a land (un)like any other.

Where the world is formed in mountains.
Where the air stays pure and
the sun shines bright.
And if you jump high enough,
you can almost touch the sky.
Where a river flows between, below,
and houses sprout up here and there
like mushrooms on the shady hillside.

And I would be there
on those lonely sand roads
under the burning sun,
holding your hand through the sweaty days
as the only thing that could separate us
would be a nice light breeze,
running past us, tired,
dying soon with no one to hold.

The idea behind the poem is that, as we were driving back home from a small, rather abandoned village in the mountains closer to Spain, and passing the great vine cultivations of Douro, a few lines came to me, and I wanted to try and depict the feeling I get every time I see those scenes. And of course, there has to be a little love in there or it just wouldn't be mine. :)

This brings me to another point. After I had read the poem, I just sat around waiting for a while, not thinking much of anything, until I realized that I kept repeating a rhythm in my head, something really familiar, so most likely something I had written myself. I tried to catch the words for a while, and eventually remembered it to be a poem I wrote some years ago, in high school, called "Sweetie, It Works" (honestly, I did not remember the title, and have no idea where it came from). Anyways, it was this part that kept repeating;

"We waltz through the garden,
we laugh in the light.
As days fall from grace, we can
reach for the night."

The whole of the poem is on the rakkausrunot.fi site, the link to which you can find on the footer of any page in Antold Story.
Anyhow, to the actual epiphany, then. Thinking about this poem made me think about other poems I remember, since I've written many I cannot recall at all, and some I remember by heart as complete works. Finally, and this happened, as I was already on my way home in the bus, I remembered what was probably the first poem I ever wrote! I can still remember it all, even though I was not more than 10 years old. With a rough and rather wild translation ('screw grammar and stick to the rhythm' -translation), it goes something like this;

On a meadow was a beautiful flower.
On a rock there sat a wolf.
It smelled the flower
and wiggled a sock,
just cried softly
and watched the swinging hay.

Notice that in Finnish it would rhyme perfectly... And then you would also know why I have included the 'sock', which is a truly childish point in the middle there. It was probably the only rhyme I could think of back then for 'flower'.
I kept thinking about the last part, and figured that even back then, the idea of tears, of sorrow, maybe even a loss of a loved one (I imagined a female wolf crying because of sadness) were there. All this time I have thought my writings are the way they are because of what happened when I was a teenager, and how love and life were not very kind to me back then, but maybe it's not this. Maybe it's indeed something I was born with.
I don't know yet whether this is a good thing, or not so much. At least I have to rethink some things about myself I thought I knew for certain.