We are The Little Match Girl

Our Flame Long Gone

in a Smokey Curl

 

A Huddled Pile Stepped Across

The Corpse of a Prophets

Foretold Loss

 

Illuminations Starved then Snuffed

Our Ruminations

Not Enough

 

Be The Flame that Won’t Submit

Sear the Flesh

That Pinches It

 

Burn with Heat that Fires Will

That when it’s gone

Rages Still