Tadpole Rockets

Man made Stars, I'm playing around with titles, what do you think?

Standing beneath a starless sky, we wait –
before the bonfire; baited breath,
an air of expectation hangs over the crowd.

The lights reach me before the noise does;
the bangs, that used to scare me as a child,
now satisfy, fill the night with excitement.

I crane my neck further to watch
the broken rainbow scatter across the sky,
colours pausing for a moment before fading.

Red silk sparkles are mixed with satin greens,
swirls of gold, shimmering, like flies to a flame;
blue lights shoot into the air, leaving no trail.

Rockets squeal as they’re forced into the sky;
like tadpoles searching for freedom in the black,
but finding nothing but empty space.

Warm arms wrap around me, hot breath brushes my ear;
I lean back on his shoulder, taking the weight off my neck,
‘They’re good this year,’ he whispers, I nod.

Then the lights go out, the show ends.
The clouds disappear. We see the natural stars.