On my way into town most mornings

The eyes of yellow bus-waiting children are

Fixed onto small screens, oblivious, aglow in florescent blue

 

Today was different, a departure from the norm

Today the eyes were east, every one,

Heads cocked and faces glowed a reflected orange and pink

Rosy cheeks, not from January’s chill or media streams

But from the day itself, it’s own grand entrance, speechless

 

Apropos then (not to mention cliché) the children stare at this

New dawn, the day is so young

Imaginations running wild, something grand

Apocalyptic, hyper-energetic just beyond the horizon

 

Sauron’s raising his army,

Nevada burns in megawatt laser light

White Mountains erupt pyroclastic

Thoughts, a flowing sea of lava, molten

Behind those young eyes, so many possibilities.