Which fire?
The scorching flamethrower of rage, 
Uncontrolled, volcanic, dangerous,
Or the sick, slow, smoking of suppression,
Simmering feelings slowly flickering;

In which do I immolate?
Explosive emotion charring to a crisp;
Sullen stewing cooking to a turn:
How do I burn?

Which is the pyre I fling myself on
Til nothing is left but ashes?
When the spark catches,
How do I burn?

For it’s when, not if;
There’s always going to be ignition
Risking conflagration.
What alternative have I?

Live safe in the dark,
With no risky kindling
Surrounding my heart?

Live dampened and dull,
With no touchpaper ready
To quicken my soul?

Live stifled and blind,
With no naked flames
To brighten my mind?

While life is alight in me
I will burn
One way or another;
Better question to ponder:
Must I be consumed?

Or instead be renewed,
A bush afire yet unwithered?
Dare I invite it,
That purposeful blowtorch,
So carefully working?

Phoenix egg cracking,
Spirit breath stirring the embers
I have guarded deep down,
In fear of the frenzy and fretting alike
Half hoping they’ll fade out…

Which fire,
Which pyre?
How shall I choose to burn?

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