matchbox

a lit match burns bravely 

a sublime tone to echo all the others

past and discarded, returned to the box

used and new, fresh ready and awaiting

at the hour of need, darkness

thunder or otherworldy events robbed us of electricity

that fundamental right and privilege of mankind

a candle alone will not suffice nor strive child of mine

can't you see? why does the nostalgia depict narrow eyes

and a frame of deep dark green in the dark

a flood rests by the tongue at bay, at sea, underneath

at ease we float between too nervous to escape

what was perceived as a fatal mistake flashed off frame

now clearer, now understood

rather the tribulation Must be made to fit the narrative

to encapsulate the lungs we breath and speak

make Heaven one and the same

boring that...

~there was a Vigil

spontaneous they tell me

'felt like turning up'

'it was the right thing to do'

'what...if...yeah...'

 as the pieces fall into place the calling

and echo ring louder

to those determined to listen.

not all open doors are an invitation

nor barriers for they simply exist and resist

the decay of aging and the heat of pyres and hells desires

to bath and partake of the communal serenety is a privilige

indeed just as the puzzle fits so naturally though the edge border and mire

are cut prior and curved smooth to prevent further bleeding.

tragedy summons shared hysteria. I want it now.