A spark lit up
A small, thin matchstick,
Gently rubbed from
A matchbox's wall.

Cursed at the fire
That burns a frail wick,
Drilled tightly into
Candle of false hopes.

Glimpsed the beauty
Of radiance and awe,
A fleeting light
To bleak, weary past.

The dancing flame
Slowly melts and hurts,
The paraffin
Where homeless hope lives.

It brightly shines,
As it ghastly burns,
Softly vanishes,
The candle that once stood.