Albert Ahearn Poet Verse

Behind the Mask

A blank sheet of stationary
lays speechless beside a keyboard.
Scores of single letters and marks-
Inert symbols invented years
Lost to man’s recent memory.
Instruments of mental fury
And human eventemperedness.
What does fate hold in store for it?
Will it be a fiery paper
With memorable rhetoric
Or the birthplace of a poem?
Both are conceivable concepts
Yet the unsullied cellulose
Is mute waiting to be unmasked.

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Stephen Parker January 21, 2011 at 1:23 PM A fallow field waiting for your fertilizing pen! The component parts are there waiting for your fecund pen to share! Artful description of the menial tools of the trade. I think this is the writers biggest contribution to a mundane world. Taking the trite things in life and instilling them with value and meaning!