A Poem About Making Poems

This is one of the first poems I wrote. I have this in one of my old note­books which I almost got rid of already until I found a lot of old poems I had writ­ten many years back.

A Poem About Mak­ing Poems
by eric santillan

why write
in stag­gered lines
of gen­teel mean­ing?
do you mock me
when you word inap­pre­hen­sively?
why play with words
that hide and seek?

last night,
i went to gather dew­drops
in bot­tles
like pick­led rel­ish
when I saw
to my delight
stars shoot­ing the night.
one and two and three and four;
an inverted fire­works dis­play.
“ah!” I told myself,
“the sky is cry­ing for lost ones
so they might wish and
find their way…”

i do not know
nor under­stand
why after that
to me
grass became the car­pet of the earth
crick­ets the very fin­gers of God
pluck­ing the eter­nal gui­tar
as trees dance to the waltz of wind.

i now real­ize it was
at that night
when the sky cried
that poetry came
search­ing for me
to ask me what my verse will be.