Eight More Matches

Eight more matches lay inside a box,

Cold and dead despite the spark within;

Eight more chances now remain for me,

Praying that You'll light my fire again.

Eight more matches in my open palm,

Ready now to burst forth into flame;

Eight more wishes flying from my tongue,

Praying that the first fire was not last.

Eight more matches lit, and one by one,

Though they try, they all are burnt away;

Eight more achings echo in the dark,

As my failed dreams fall, turned into ash.

Eight more matches lay inside a box,

A gracious gift from Your forgiving hand;

Eight more chances now remain to me,

Encouragement to press on through again.

~6/8/04