Struck

I originally wrote this poem for a creative writing class i was taking at EMU. The teacher (who was a dimwit, to say the least) thought the last line was unnecessary. I thought the last line was the only good thing about the poem.



Life struck
	like a match

A flicker, a whisper,
		one wind.

And all you are left with is a wooden box.

So how tall are you?




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