De matchstick

 Fireworks, when I am around, there might not be,
come, they shalt, after I walk away.

Warmth, there might not be, while I stay,
come, it shalt, after I am long gone.

Hungry, thou might be, in my presence,
fill thou, but I shalt, in my absence.

The best path, guide thee along, I might not,
shed light, enough, I shalt, where thou can be, to show thee.

Consume light, I shalt not, only provide it;
a matchstick, I shalt be.

– De Nocturnal Poet