One stick,
then another
taken away
from the Match Man.
Piling up his pyre,
one and only fire
is his destination.
There’s no hope,
no desire.
They won’t burn him
as he stands;
take him down
to build the flames higher.
The tangled effigy
of the Match Man.
Could have lit the flame,
could have burned brighter,
banishing the night
with a wave of his hand.
He saw the world
in terms of combustion,
what reacts with what
and what feeds from the land.
He’ll raze cities,
forests fall always.
Everything he sees,
is destroyed
and renewed again.
Ready to strike at an instant,
so they did away
with the Match Man.
Take his bones,
put them in a pile.
Burn him in a place
where he can’t hurt a friend,
can’t burn a forest,
can’t save a soul.
No more banishing the night
and the cold.
He’s been nothing but trouble,
something we can’t control,
so we take him stick by stick,
burn him down to his coals,
until he’s gone.
We’ll be safe on the land,
when we do away
with the Match Man.
HG – 2017
