Poem 41 – Pyrrhic Pyrotechnics

Rise to the sky, explode, and burn,
Become a whisper of smoke in the skies,
Soar, little rocket, for black space you must yearn –
Rise to the stars, and then you must die.

“Why must I die?” Because you are young,
And when you explode we find it such fun –
Coating the skies with stars of gold,
Silver and red – children, behold!
The light of our rockets shines for a while,
While they burst we can briefly smile.
The roar of the rocket,
The hiss of its whizz,
They hit the high sky,
And end with a fizz,
While down on the ground there are colours galore,
Fountains and candles across the earthy floor,
Throwing out sparks,
Hitting ev’ry mark,
Then at the end the last rocket flies –
We’ll laugh and cheer as the last rocket dies.

“It is fun,” said the rocket,
“The destruction unites,
Though all other creatures get such a fright!
Then I’ll be glad to soar to the sky,
To aid merriment and friendship – that task is mine.”

So he rose to the sky, exploded and burnt,
A mere whisper of smoke in the sky.
He soared, that rocket, for black space he did yearn,
He rose to the stars, and then he did die.


Dear readers,
Tonight, as I’m sure you all know, is Guy Fawkes’ Night here in the U.K., and I have to say I’m looking forward to it. Although, to be honest, now that I’ve written this, I’m not so sure – seems a little less jubilant… Do any of you have plans for Guy Fawkes’? I guess that that question probably doesn’t apply to those of you who aren’t from the U.K.. Particularly for the U.S. readers, who I understand have some doo-dah on tomorrow. Have fun!
Remember remember the 5th of November…
The Hapless Neo-Romantic


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