The document provides a series of statements telling the reader not to consider matches as worthless objects. It describes matches as seemingly insignificant things like pieces of wood, sticks, or trash. However, the concluding statement reveals that with just a small gust of wind or rub against stone, a whole box of matches has the power to turn blissful places into burning graveyards, suggesting matches have more power and meaning than their small size and inexpensive cost would indicate.

1. SMALL BOX OF MATCHSTICKS
Don’t just consider them to be lifeless pieces of wood; soggy and extruding black
beads of stingy coal,
Don’t just consider them to be a minuscule strand of orphaned stick; lying obsolete
on the streets awaiting ardently to be kicked,
Don’t just consider them to be a neglected trash lying dilapidated in the dustbin;
rotting in morbidly insipid gloom,
Don’t just consider them to be a soiled wire coalesced in an obnoxious heap with the
squalid soil; being trampled infinite times in a single day,
Don’t just consider them to be an incoherent needle; a chunk of worthless shit
strewn rampantly amongst the proliferating wilderness,
Don’t just consider them to be a dreary speck; emanating an incredulously ghoulish
odor in the placid atmosphere,
Don’t just consider them to be brutally squelched left overs of furniture; wailing
miserably under the uncannily shimmering beams of moon,
Don’t just consider them to be worthless beads of profusely broken thorns; burying
infinite feet beneath the earth at the slightest of shoving,
Don’t just consider them to be globs of savagely pulverized saw dust; having
absolutely no complete entity of their own,
Don’t just consider them to be coating of a dolorously decaying bone; disdainfully
polluting the entire area which they infinitesimally inhabited,
Don’t just consider them to be diminutive ants with a black ghastly head; staring
indefatigably at each other in nervous exhilaration,
Don’t just consider them to be an insipid follicle of hair; shattering into boundless
fragments of dirt the instant one inadvertently caressed them,
Don’t just consider them to be a lifeless skin of vegetable; waiting in overwhelming
anticipation to be dumped into the farthest corner of the city gutter,
Don’t just consider them to be shivering crusts of stale bread; blowing away to
fathomless kilometers of distance with the tiniest draught of exuberant wind,

2. Don’t just consider them to be a minuscule thread smaller than the key hole;
possessing a life of less than even a whole minute,
Don’t just consider them to be a favorite meal for the woodpecker; devouring their
entire countenance in a singly gulp of its mighty beak,
Don’t just consider them to be a horrendously distorted wire with no electricity;
hiding themselves way beneath the mud as the sun came out sweltering from the
blazing sky,
And don’t just consider them to be without a meaning or value in this colossal world;
selling at the most threadbare rates in the contemporary market,
For all they needed was just a tiny bellow of air; an incomprehensibly frigid rubbing
against abraded stone; and then my small box of matchsticks, had the prowess to char
blissful territories into veritable graveyards; laugh to their hearts content; as the so
called planet which had once ridiculed them; was now nothing but a ball
of diabolically rising flames.