Life Of A Match Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr

After days conceived in an array of light,
Skewered in the atmosphere, impaled in the night
Centuries of delving for answers that I cannot understand
Underneath a cloud of vapor and chests tender with sand

I have come to this conclusion,
After comparative studies in a sundry life span,
Lavishing facts come across like planes dividing the sky
The clouds emptying themselves, raindrops like thorns on my skin

After dancing in a funeral,
Have I found that my stark spark is ephemeral.
I long then consider my life, countless in a watch
In a matter of seconds, I die like a match.

Whose light is flamboyant in the middle of its glow,
Yet losing its heat in the slightest presence of snow,
I have lived like a match, only sleeping with eyes wide open inside a chamber,
Of hallowed darkness, in the scented macabre.

I rest there, enclosed upon the disclosure of the suppresion
Of thoughts that have blunders the same as the vileness of ascension
Stirring above the clouds where some souls are trapped
Where as the pain has instilled, engraved like an epitaph?

The life of a match, how short, how abrupt
Brandishing limited beauty, with a light so corrupt
That it almost tells a story of a hope that does not flourish
Inside the heart of a man whose sole fate is to tarnish.