8 Seconds from Glory
He mounted the bull; and at blast-off he swore
he wouldn't be cast off like dung anymore.
Let Hell explode! He was bolted astride;
and this was the day for an 8 second ride.
Let the bull hurtle and rocket through space,
propelled by its hate for the whole human race.
He'd ride out each frenzied eruption and spin.
This journey was his. It was his day to win!
8 seconds from glory! 8 seconds from fame!
8 seconds away from the wild crowd's acclaim!
Just 5 seconds more...he refused to be thrown.
Just 5 seconds more, and the buckle he'd own.
Though his frame throbbed like jets
from the thrust of the blast,
he hunkered down tight
till some three seconds passed.
2 seconds from glory...Just 2 seconds more!
He'd ride the full 8 or die trying, he swore!
But glory is fleeting. It's here, then it's gone.
One moment, it's there.... and the next- it's withdrawn.
With 1 second more...just a second to go,
the rocket exploded and stole the blamed show.
Glory is fleeting. It's here, then it's gone;
and his glory vanished like dew drops at dawn.
© 2005, Bette Wolf Duncan
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.
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