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I match life
With burnt fingertips
I sit on this frozen step
wondering why they say,
Not to play with fire
The beauty of it’s flame
- a sweet painful glow
travels down white pine
transforming it’s shape
and color
worth much more than
a dollar
as the flame shines
it’s last shine
all is left
is a worn shadowy
unknown matter with no longer
any purpose
to be disposed
into the somber
other side
never to be seen again
like us
ensuing life
