Behind The Mask Poem by Albert Ahearn

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.