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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