Matches

It occurred to me, in the midst of some unsettling memory
We’re just like matches, you and me.
Sculpted spines of yew and pine
Draped in human volatility.

It occurred to me, just the same
That I, with no certainty of gain,
Would dash myself on some textured pane
And beg to ignite; to phosphoresce in vain
So that perhaps you’d see me.

It occurred to me, in simplest practice
One should take care in the striking of matches
For some find their labors by fire rewarded
Yet others find, with a deafening crack
A broken back, and the spark that they lack.

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