January 30, 2018

The match is born to do good deeds,
To light candles and campfires,
To give warmth and vibrance
where none can be found.
A lit match on its own
Is a miracle

So why,
When the earth shakes,
The ground parts,
The sky is filled with smoke,
The air is filled with screams
and the sickly stench of blood,
Is the blame hurled
in forceful flashes of anger
At the match

And not at the massive keg of dynamite?

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