Hot Air Balloon

April 4, 2012
By Hyera BRONZE, Seattle, Washington
Hyera BRONZE, Seattle, Washington
2 articles 0 photos 0 comments

The weather was perfect for the morning,
the sky clear and air brisk with the sun out,
the viridescent grass still wet with dew,
soon the launch-off will start with excitement,
teachers, students, and friends in a circle,
at the field in the welcoming nature.
The burner placed beneath the balloon's skirt,
its raging fire heating up the air,
air molecules inside getting active,
pressure being built because of the heat,
the density decreasing more and more;
the cause of the balloon to rise and float,
trapped but through the cool air surrounding it,
and the motion of the air molecules:
increasing in speed, becoming widespread;
molecules colliding with greater force,
buoyancy pushing against gravity.
Watching the balloon, fear is created,
waiting for the balloon to tear and rip,
since it had been glued together swiftly,
at the science lab in our science class,
but it doesn't and glee replaces fear.
The hot air balloon is going somewhere,
with its fuming and searing, red-hot fire;
its spark and flames that will burn and last long.
How I wish to be this hot air balloon,
traveling with the winds and birds up high;
the freedom I can breathe into my lungs,
the burning and hunger and ache I feel,
for this longing that was once thrown away,
dreams caught in the breeze within a moment.
But I'm bound to the ground, still standing here,
staring off into the brilliant blue;
the azure sky torched by the same fire,
as gravity keeps on pulling me down,
the cause for all I can do from afar:
keep staring as the balloon flies away,
regretting that I had not grasped the hope,
the bliss that was within my reach, now lost.
The hot air balloon stole something from me,
now I anticipate for it to rip,
hoping it would come back slowly to me,
I'd sprint and catch it in my outstretched arms,
trying to hold on to all that it took,
all that I left on it, but it's not there.
The passion once ignited is not there,
not a trace or a scintilla of doubt,
that the blazing fire has flickered off,
and exhilaration rushed out of me,
the tension easing as the balloon dropped,
at my feet instead of my outstretched arms,
for the two upper numb limbs have dropped too,
they're now at my sides since I realized,
that the balloon is here but nothing changed.
The hot air balloon did come back to me,
but it seems to be making fun of me,
that it came back down but is safe on ground,
when I am quite the exact opposite.
To make matters worse: precipitation.
But I stop and think for a moment or two,
maybe, what I lost in the winds is here,
through the process of the water cycle,
through condensation and precipitation,
the grass now muddy and being stepped on,
by sneakers, and rain boots splashing water.
The weather's still perfect, for Seattle,
so I run and yell in the pouring rain,
with my hot air balloon caught on fire.

The author's comments:
My Honors Science class homework has inspired me to write this poem for my Honors English enrichment assignment.

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