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Here you will find the writings of the poet Theodore Waterfield

The Match that Burned the World

The match that burned the world
started with a stone,
a mysterious tower of chance,
a molecule in the mind,
infinitesimal flame.
A sunbeam talking about itself
as it lit tobacco in its pipe.
Michael calls it pretend energy
inside his plane.
The smoker blowing smoke
called it a name
and kept it to himself.

But the flame hovered in his sleep
and got away,
out of its cage of poetry,
and now it burns slowly,
creeping into the good and evil
of our thoughts.
But for Michael and me,
pretend energy will do,
E = MC2 is strange,
stranger than a dragon,
and still far away,
shining in the heavens
with a million sparks cast off,
a fire coming for us,
inexorable and bright,
as beautiful as any star.

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