Love and Words


Striking a Match


Striking a match

holds the promise of many things.

If I have chosen to pour gasoline

on myself on others on things,

then the promise is destruction

that will be without meaning,

for no two people

sifting the oily ash shall agree

on why I struck the flame.

Houses will be left without memory,

people will be chosen to blame,

and if anything of me is left,

I will be examined

but not believed,

for the nature of destruction

is to destroy all meaning.

Striking a match

holds the promise of many things.

If that match sparks a flame

that flares to the wick of a candle,

then the smallest part of life is enshrined,

with flickering boundaries,

its borders unprotected,

worn at by the waves of night

and changing with the slightest breeze.

In that small circle of light,

vision lacks clarity

and life has the substance of dreams,

and no two people shall agree

on what was there,

for the nature of flames that flare

is to disappear before anything can be seen.

Striking a match

holds the promise of many things.

If that match falls on dry wood piled just so,

the flame feeds fire and warmth grows,

light cannot help but be cast,

to reveal what has been

and what has yet to pass.

Yet fires by nature consume,

themselves or what is foolish enough

to fall in,

and no two people will survive

the coldness of night when the fire dies,

or the hunger of a fire

grown wild,

for the nature of being consumed

is to stay till there is nothing left within.

No one person can survive,

in darkness in cold or blaze

for each and all

are beyond their control.

In striking the match,

there is a promise of so many things, 

lighting a candle

held in another's hands,

their circle of light

reveals rocks you can move,

to ring wild nature and contain,

to find fuel that will not destroy

but sustain,

for the nature of striking a match

is to see what can be done,

and where you may choose

to begin.


decagon          poetry 



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