(Note: Again, a big thanks to my reviewers: aurias- like I said to Princess Mulan, your praise is more than I deserve. But thank you for reviewing this, as well as my other poem "I'm Sorry, Little Brother." Same to Excel- thanks for reviewing this and my other poem. More thanks to Princess Mulan for reviewing again.)
What will come to pass?
What will happen?
What will be the fate of this paper
and this pen?
What potential does it have,
this stick I twirl between my fingers?
What time is there,
before it, unused, stops to linger?
What great ideas will it jot down?
What words will flow from its tip?
What famous sayings will it record?
and from what great orator's lips?
What time will we spend together,
scribbling poetry and prose?
What stories will my pen and I write?
What masterpieces will we compose?
What power is in this writing utensil?
What will I find if I take it apart?
What is in this little pen
that enables the creation of such great art?
What is lost with each pen that we misplace?
What have we forsaken with that pen beneath the bed?
What ink is wasted every time we are careless?
What ideas will be spared of the transfer to paper from my head?
What about this sheet of paper?
What will become of it?
What will I do to fill its great potentials?
What words on it will the pen spit?
What protest will ring from its lines?
What fantasy will it narrate?
What historical information will it contain?
What will be its fate?
What will be the purpose of this sheet of paper?
What will be its importance to the world?
What will it do to sway the minds of many?
What information through it will be unfurled?
What would happen if it were burned instead?
What would happen if stayed a tree?
What if this piece of paper ended in the other side of the world?
What if it had never come to me?
What will become of this paper and pen?
What will be its fate, big or small?
What love, hate, or fear will emerge from these objects?
Or worse, nothing at all?