Firefighter

My love is like a clean match

burning for the first time.

Each swipe before the flame is tireless, anticipating

the awakening of the heat. it strikes

and strikes

and almost goes out.

Until a flicker of orange sparks.

In that moment, the flame is unending

Powerful, destructive.

Yet the match was lit for a purpose,

to start a fire,

illuminate the candle's wick,

warm the Birthday's soul.

So the match must be extinguished. 

Gone as quickly as it had come,

only to be followed by the next suitor,

for the next darkness, for the next day.

Reviews

[.]

-- oh, when things are so temporary and so momentary... -- you've created the perfect image to capture that fragility... and that brittleness... -- incredible poetry...

[terry smith]

Ahh but in the land of imagination and lust you can leave the fire going till it sets the whole forest abaze, only to become ashes upon the lovers death. I love this poem Cat!

[Misery]

A great creation, dear poet. You have composed a unique comparison on the lighting of a match and woven it into emotions we all can relate to, or at least remember. A wonderful poem.