Fireworks

A poem about fireworks after I saw a firework show.

Fireworks

As I look up in the starry sky, the night is alight by booming rockets.

I am startled by the noise as it rattles in my ribcage.

I am captivated by the beautiful lights against the sky, moon, and stars.

Everyone cheers and I cheer too.

The fireworks are in many colors.

There are small fireworks, big fireworks and medium fireworks.

Some fireworks are thick, some fireworks are thin.

And some fireworks don't even burst into a thousand lights.

As more fireworks come into the sky, my eyes are adjusted to the brightness and movement of the fireworks.

But, I cannot get used to the moment that the fireworks hold you spellbound,  and you are unable to take your eyes off them.

The air echoes with their sound.

As soon as the fireworks fade away, and the show is gone, they leave behind smoke.

A past remains of themselves.

Everyone claps and cheers.

When everyone walks away, there is one question I have always wondered.

Do fireworks ever land on the ground?

 

 

 

 

Author's Note

Any errors or problems tell me.