As a young boy you were warned
not to play with matches.
Fire will always burn your supple skin,
but you never listened.
Adults; they knew nothing of life.
So you struck a spark and watched
as the fire blazed through
all that you had, all that you loved.
And all that you feared
You could not live without.
Its heat left marks on the walls,
and scarred you for life,
as the force of its passion was something
you had never felt before
and hoped to never feel again.
It loved with fervour too strong,
bordering on obsession
as it continued to rage through water
and obstacles in its path,
until nothing remained in its wake.
It left no room for future romance;
tenderness destroyed
because of your silly little mistakes
as a silly little boy.
You were warned not to play with matches.
So in lament you cultivated soil and ash
in hope of love yet growing
in the midst of ruin. And there, in the sun
with only your tears for water
a single sprout of love took root in your heart.