Match

Strike me and I’ll spark with promise and fear.
What use do you imagine with your flame?
I can burn bonewise down to your finger.
So use me quickly else I’m wasted ash.

I’ll settle under your feet like grey soot;
A forgotten layer consign’d to earth
Without purpose and all potential lost.
Floating into air, clothes, the odd moustache.

Cycle of loss. You dither’d, and here we are.
You bereft of flame, me never kindled.
Throw me away, shrug. Select another.
And think wiser, or even with abash.