The hands move gracefully around the numbered face.
Slivers of light break violently into existence.
Shapes move in patterns barely recognizable.
Sensory input floods the soul.
Words form, dreams solidify, passions populate the mind space.
The mind is thrust forth into thought perpetually creating relationships.
Learning, always learning, new ideas combine with old.
The world and all the vast libraries of textures, smells, tastes, sounds and visions are judged, dreamed and adapted.
Knowledge is gained and parsed; it becomes religion, faith in understanding.
Mingling experiences test the mind, tempt the heart and guide the spirit.
The mind begins to comprehend, to understand, to believe.
First words and lucid dreams are always full and vibrant.
Violently tumbling, first down and finally out.
Lights pierce the fabric of existence finding purchase in the darkness.
Tick, Tock, Always.
@DonSedberry Nice! Hope you enjoyed the prompt last night.
RT @DonSedberry: The Cycle: A poem http://t.co/PDb7bwPL @IndyWordLab