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?
Categories:
branch line, poetry, writing,
Form: I do not know?