Soar

Patch, not quite eleven, is an aspiring writer, but she also has a poet’s soul. A few weeks back we had a power outage one night, and she cranked out four poems. Some time before that, I came across a half-dozen or so others scratched on loose leaf paper. She may have more in notebooks not privy to her father’s (proud) eyes. When I first heard this poem on that candle-fueled night (and it was a hot one in early July), I figured this would be a good way to personally conclude my Apollo scribblings on this blog.

However, once she allowed me to peruse the text, I realized it was not so much about rockets launching astronauts as it was rockets launching nuclear payloads. Bombs. Oh well. Seems someone must have read a little bit about the 50s paranoia of bombs raining down overhead. But, ironically, isn’t that what started this whole Space Race thing, way way back in October of 1957, a race that culminated in twelve men walking the lunar surface twelve years later?

“Soar”

   by Patch

Rockets fly on

Soaring up till dawn

Those glassy eyes stare through the cracks

Seeing the rockets fly on makes them relax

Their terror of the bombs disappear

The bombs’ sorrow echoes still leer

But the rockets fly on

Soaring up till dawn

They know they’re okay

But in whispers they still say

Independence is theirs

The bombs were their cares

The bombs are gone

Their ugly, silent song

Rocket fly on

Soaring up till dawn

(A long, long way from “Creepy Bat” …)