FIREWORKS

BANG!
and the dog creeps under the piano stool.

Missing the faded beauty of Autumn
we look for more colours as we step
into the murky mists of November.

Duffle-coated against the cold, we watch
the burning effigy of the man
whose memory is rekindled every year.

Lost historic drama put to the torch.

Catherine-wheels and sparklers
entrance the young. Squibs and jumping
crackers provide the edge. Echoing
sounds and sparks fire at the sky.

A bombardment to delight.

Rockets send clusters of stars to burst
into their own beautiful but fleeting galaxies
expanding to nothingness.

Is our own planet just part of a firework display,
wondrous but short-lived?

BANG!
where will we find a piano stool?

© Marion Sharville

About Marion Sharville

A website of Poems and Short stories
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One Response to FIREWORKS

  1. Nollie says:

    And I thought I was the sneibsle one. Thanks for setting me straight.

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