Opportunity

What an opportunity. A blank piece of paper. I am a poem, I can fill this white void, My words will spill over the page. Will they tumble with joy or sorrow? Will I make you laugh or cry - perhaps both. I will have form and rhythm. I will have meter and rhyme. Rhyme? Perhaps not this time. My language may be of flowers, of love, Partings, meetings, endings and beginnings. I may be Shakespeare, Heaney, Larkin. I may be epic, haiku, long or short. But where to begin? Will the pencil glide over the paper In a glorious outpouring, Or will it stop and start like a train on a branch line? So may words, so many emotions . How to put them into coherent lines, Make sense of them, or perhaps non-sense. When I reach the bottom of the page Will there be more? Turn over, keep going, Or will this blank white sheet Be an opportunity crumpled?