Alight

My heart is like the flame of a stove.

Once it roared to life,

with fire

and passion 

and ferocity. 

Now it clicks, and fails.

And I wonder if it will ever start up again. 

I need someone to light the pilot in holy flame, 

to share the blame.

Of my now cold heart, 

once so jovial, 

now so tart. 

All I need is a match, 

something

anyone

To continue it's drum.

For now it's cold and silent, 

clotted over with rust and scum.