A Match Poem by Matthew Boisjolie

Waiting for the flame to catch,
watching the match burn down,
trying to catch the leaves for warmth,
upon finding the match,
my sould danced with joy,
yet as the flame burns out,
i am left with the coldness,
i was trying to escape origionally,
with the darkness, i wished against,
i yern for more, for light, for warmth,
for something to save me from this darkness,
from this cold frozen frost that has covered me,
freezing me to the ground, hunched to save myself,
as the clodness infects my muscles, my body,
slowly shuts down from defeat, as i see the flame disapate,
and the smoke rises from the once alive object.