What we write , the one that reaches across to others , is mostly the very words that echo our mood for the moment. Sometimes , when you are in a particular mood , experiencing a particular emotion , it is very much possible to capture it in your poem within a few hours than to do the same , a few days later.
But I feel, everyone's writing has a mood of its own. Years back , when I started writing , most times I wrote to let my fears and thoughts out of my mind. It were not happy times and the nights would be a little too hard to handle. That's when I discovered poetry writing and it helped me cope up with my feelings. In the process , my writing took a character of its own. A face that is kind and sad at same time. A voice that talks of past and is hopeful of the future too. A mood that is aware of the pain it has seen and expects but also knows that love exists.
Whenever I have written with such mood and honesty , not just have I felt satisfied with the poem but the process itself has been rewarding. And its same with so many bloggers I read around. I can almost judge the thought process , the mood , the projection of the thoughts from them to me. It is a sense of familiarity that envelops me when I read such poems.
I agree that one should step out of boundaries and try new writing ways , new techniques. But can not the same feeling be expressed in hundred different ways ? Is it so important to write happy poems even if you know you are doing a below average job with that ?
Writing is about being honest . To please yourself . Not to appeal to others.
On second thought , If you still want to try changing the mood of your poem, once it is finished , I will suggest you to give it few weeks. Let the feelings fade , and then sit with words not with your heart , but with a critical head. Let it talk , argue back to the mood , change it on your whim and voila ! you might have a completely new picture for yourself.
This link might give you a stepping board for this task.
Leaving you with this lovely poem -
A Mood
A blight, a gloom, I know not what, has crept upon my gladness--
Some vague, remote ancestral touch of sorrow, or of madness;
A fear that is not fear, a pain that has not pain's insistence;
A sense of longing, or of loss, in some foregone existence;
A subtle hurt that never pen has writ nor tongue has spoken--
Such hurt perchance as Nature feels wen a blossomed bough is broken.
Some vague, remote ancestral touch of sorrow, or of madness;
A fear that is not fear, a pain that has not pain's insistence;
A sense of longing, or of loss, in some foregone existence;
A subtle hurt that never pen has writ nor tongue has spoken--
Such hurt perchance as Nature feels wen a blossomed bough is broken.
Thomas Bailey Aldrich
~ Nimue