My Secret

Woah. This took a turn I was not expecting, and to be honest, I got chills from it.

The tone in this is almost aloof? Or cold? The exclamation point, like you have seen so much death, it's now a parody. The cycle of death, again and again, in nature and the fear of destruction, of being a part of that. Going from watching the fires and watching the news and the commentary on that to how death plays a role in your life and those around you.

There's almost a sardonic tone in this, then more serious toward the last few verses, and I can't gather whether that wanting to burn and burn, and not necessarily be guaranteed a death, or have some control over it. Or the illusion, this woman in the reflection, symbolizing maybe something lasting longer than death? Alive but burning, in memory, and not ever at peace? At rest? Or maybe being scared of death yet not wanting to live in a sense.

Some unsettling images in this that held mystery and also uncertainty. Missed your poems, Adastra!