Fireworks

When the sun hits the horizon and darkness takes charge,

The stars switch on, guarding the night sky.

Every night their robotic, systematic, automatic.

But on a particular night, the riot of colours begins.

 

Colour flashes all around, echoing the gunshots in war.

Ambushes of noise causing awakening at nightfall.

Visible for only a single moment, the sound dimming with distance.

Instantly, a new set of armies substitute the lost.

 

A grand eruption of beauty, a painting on twilight.

The sparks minuscule, decaying to nothing.

For a single night, they are the spotlight, mesmerizing all,

Soon to be forgotten, annoying, messy.

 

Projections of shapes and hues manifesting into a movie,

Dialogue of explosions mirroring the voices below

Tiny whispers even more so covered, diluted by powers.

Are they cries of help or flares of celebrations

 

The rainbow appearing instilling awe into our sight.

One by one they show what they can offer, an audition to a play.

We judge and we observe. We conclude and we infer.

They're all so beautiful, so violent, so surreal.

 

We cannot stop them. Once they start, we must wait.

They are not lazy, they are brave and they are strong

We are not the weak. We’re merely their valued strength.

They are not them without us. No, they could not be anything.

 

A sea of people shuffling amongst the crowd,

Replicating the ripples on the sparkling ocean.

What’s so special? It happens every year.

They are the Sirens, alluring not only seamen

 

They leave the soil not to meet the Gods

But to entertain the dead, the ones with no souls.

Lighting a match within, offering a sense of escape

They soar like shimmer rockets. The stars are dancing.

 

Individuals leave the endless stage, audience craving more.

The army retire peacefully, withdrawing oneself.

The colours are gone, the mosaic of figures. Demolished.

Once what was confronting lingers into our heart revealing beauty.

 

Author's Note

ignore grammar problems
comments?