Sunrise at Lanikai Pillboxes

The sun is a king

A tyrant slumbering

Left by his lunar paramour

behind his cumulo-nimbus chambers.

Us, his audience, ascend the hill

Like besotted fools await his awakening.

We watch with watery eyes

As the rest of his subjects scramble

To welcome his rising.

The king blinks, bats a burning eye

behind the clouds.

The mountains quiver in anticipation.

The ocean, his mistress, is crimson with jealousy

And blushes orange and red

Mirroring her far-flung fury.

The wind blew the trump

Announcing the king’s arrival.

The trees hushed their murmur

And the grass gazed upward

As the clouds parted their curtains

To reveal the king in his blinding glory

Ascending towards his throne.

His cape trailed wisps of orange and yellow

Billowing beneath his celestial feet.

We, humans, stared from the painted pill-boxes,

Spectators of a celestial spectacle

Small, seemingly insignificant.

We bowed and made obeisance

Together, squinted our eyes

With the mountains and the sea

And welcomed the wandering deity

To rule in ruthless splendor.

Another day.