Our Box Of Matches~ Inside Poem by ArmourQuill Hunter

There are so many kinds of lights and fires, inside and out.
We’re born with a box of matches inside, without a doubt.

Matches don’t light themselves, not without fire to seize.
Oxygen, of another, comes from a lover’s breath to ease.

Created symbolic of a candle, we’re created to shine…
One’s candle can be: a melody, a caress, or a sound divine.

Anything that pulls the trigger~ connects the spark to light.
The explosive flare of a match divinely feeds our soul, aright.

If our box of matches is damp, we’ll not be able to light them.
There's lots of ways to dry a damp match box; love heals of sin.

The matches must be lite 1one by one, preventing a burn-out.
A burst of emotions ignites them all~ into wondrous turn-out.

Hence unveiling a bright tunnel of a path we forgot at birth.
For such a path calls us back to our divine origins of worth.