It starts with the soft whisper
of innocence: a sly giggle,
a rattle of misplaced intention.
The couch shifts like a tectonic plate,
pillows erupting, scattering across
a carpet already gathering rebellion.
Books become stepping stones,
a library transformed into a jungle gym.
Markers uncap their wildest ideas,
smudging white walls into galaxies.
Who knew a single toy car
could ignite so much velocity?
Their laughter ricochets like a pinball
between walls and windowpanes.
Every surface is no longer surface:
it’s battlefield, canvas, laboratory.
I breathe in the chaos,
try not to drown in its tide.
They are architects of entropy,
curators of color and noise.
Yet as the room succumbs,
the air thick with uncontainable energy,
I see in their hurricane hands
a blueprint for joy itself.