Consciousness

Although it’s only 3 am,
I’m conscious as can be.
Each bloom’s asleep atop its stem,
But I’m no flower, me.

I’m not a one who has a go
At shinning up a pole
But that which knows all there’s to know –
The whole, cohesive whole.

Perception’s rays cut through the night
As sharply as a star’s,
And yet I bathe the world in light,
Which nothing ever mars.

Though this is how it’s always been,
It’s only now I take it in.

Photo by Murat Gün on Unsplash

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