Always With A Title, Eh? Poem by Sebastien St. Fellmore

insert the paper at the push of a button
and watch as the scars and lacerations appear
as black as the night separated from the moon
with ink as cold as waters yet to be waded in
your meaning disappears slowly, subtly sinking
unable to float or swim, yet there's no thrashing about
mad paranoia is strangely absent, a gentle wind
kisses foreheads bowed in reverent prayer upwards
sidewards, inwards, expression unhindered by words
poetry in the nothingness of the waiting page
an empty book says more than many a filled sheet

in silence, the truth and purpose sometimes meet
only in assured victory can we truly appreciate defeat