A Token

A cigarette
is a life:
born ready made, 
ready to be
lit.

But will you light it?

Burning down to the nub,
its amber eye
slowly dying,
being smoked
of its will.

It was lit.

Born ready made,
a beautiful thing to hold,
to feel
between your lips,
but never a cigarette
until met by flame.

Will it, light it.

Killed by flame,
born in flame,
dependent on flame,
fearing flame,
loving flame,
it is a beautiful thing.

But will you light it?