From within the heartache overspills
and cuts grooves within contentment
to make of volcanoes matchbox toys
lined up for keen inspection
for nought can equal or outmatch
the energetic free-fall force
of a woman’s tears.
But pooled within and confined
behind barriers of maturity
they call forth a brighter, hotter, sun
into the deep interior
where it shrivels heart to matchstick parts
before the moon is nigh.
And sadly earth’s the counterpart
of all the matchstick men/women
weeping, keeping, negativity
as fuel for the fire
of earth’s will to die.
So says the dream that never reveals
how to be joyful in sorrow!
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