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Matches - An original poem
Matches
A scratch
across
The match flares up
The light makes my eyes dance
My mouth is in a smiling trance
The match is my beacon of hope
It starts up my fire
when it’s been stamped out
It lights up my life.
And then, and then,
AND THEN.
The flame goes closer, hotter
burning down the stick
faster, faster, faster
I held on thinking the flame would die
BUT NO.
I got burned.
I had no choice but to drop the match
it with it’s mask of goodness
and stare longingly at the charred remains of my lifeline.
But just because I was burned once,
then regretfully twice,
Does that mean I should never strike a match again?
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POSTED IN You Wrote It, poetry
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