Fireworks Forming 250 in the Sky Ron AI

Rockets' Red Glare

Our ancestors huddled in the trees at night,

Their only solace from predators beneath,

Starry heavens above so bright, a relief.

Occasionally, seeing wispy curtains of blue-green,

That came and went like a fitful dream scene.

And then, there was lightning, lighting up,

Their world vividly for a moment, all around,

Punctuated by a following, terrifying sound.

Kind of fury that must've been gods’ wish,

Both thrilling and frightening, no small "swish."

But often, a loud “crack!" that split the air,

And even the times it killed those there.

Bringing heavy rain and other helpful relief,

From the heat of the day and the thirst,

From dried up water hole, only dew on leaf.

But fire that came from the ground and the sky,

Both softened the food and warmed the soul.

Fire was kept burning through toil and care. 

Fascination in the flames stared at a while.

Ingenuity produced powder burst into flame.

Gases produced provided great thrust.

Soon rockets were launched and,

Projectiles were thrown like a wind gust.

Colors could be found in the mixture as well,

Fireworks were created to continue the spell.

A formula used for both fun and for war.

Like lightning, with both awe and terror,

Fireworks, a metaphor for war found there.

Old Glory was produced from sight and sound.

And practiced for celebrations come ‘round.

So that never again would that sound and fury,

Be found ‘cross the land of the free,

And the home of the brave, hopefully.

Copyright 2026 © Ronald W. Hull

7/2/26

You can read and print this poem at my website here.