The motivation that drives and inspires me is simply implacably gone.
Hours shout minutes as life lives on.
Days often rain as rain often crashes.
Here I am with my little box of matches.
Afraid to see the light as it paves way.
I dare not light one, here I stay.
Standing with my brothers unable to see.
That I hold the light that is the key.
Their hands empty cold and tan.
We work in the dark with our fellow man.
Led by money greed and power.
We fight each and every hour.
To hold our grasp on reality.
We learn to deal with fatality.
The distance bothers some.
It bothers me none.
I planned to get away.
To light the path for my brothers.
But they digress like all the others.
So I hold this matchbox tightly in my hand and pray for my brothers and fellow man.
