With every tick of the clock
And the door's suspense
Sometimes a great knock and the consciousness grows
Like a red rose
Slowly, Softly, Silently
Timidly, Taciturnly, Terrified
Hesitantly, Slyly, Wisely
In eta into an enormous not extinguishable hearth
Called the soul
That burns unexhausted-------
Absorbs, Acclimatises, Accentuated
And adheres to it for a short long time
Till the appointed moment
To escape into another life
Of stringent struggle and strife
Yet with another tick
It becomes saturated sick
Still assumes another form
Totally different, fully divergent
No past recollections, repentance of sentiments
Gathers, Collects, Shares
Enjoys, Repines, Bears
Stays, Dissolves, Sublimes
Growth, decadence, degradation with the time.
The Consciousness
WRITTEN FOR THE INTERNATIONAL POETRYSOUP CONTEST