only the turning of the first page

a very arbitrary poem including just little notes

i begin with a hello and i'll start this off easy
i feel as though the words are coming freely
a sudden break through the writer's block chains
so much creativity, who am i to complain?
but it's getting late and i should really begin
and take notice of this sudden flowing whim
am i really writing this, or am i in a dream?
a daze i can never exit, or so it seems
and although i have so much to share,
i have no clue how to begin, when, nor where
and who am i to enter and take all this thrill
using just words to bid at my will
but you see that is what we as writer's do
we interweave lives,fates and tales even if sometimes untrue
but i beg your forgiveness for causing the start
of the beginning of a tale in which you now take part
in the eyes of many i am young and naive
but reality does like to twist the things we conceive.