Eight Senses Poem by john tiong chunghoo

(poetry in progress)

the world starts out
with a consciousness
half a consciousness
then one consciousness
then they morph with one sense,
ask the mountain
they stand and stand until the
volcanoes start to throw them out

then two senses, ask the trees
and the shrubs criss crossing
with your paths in the field
they stand and stand, take
the sunshine and make green
a colour for continuous evolution
their only shortcoming is their
two sense world, they stand and stand
a state of being, a state of living
and that's all

the three senses, the four senses
and the five senses, the human beings
they cry to God to let them
have eternal life
but what ever that's for
without the sixth, seventh, or eight sense
unveiled to them

sixth, the sense to connect the past
with the future
the seventh, the sense to connect
the future with the million of consciousness
clarmouring for the eight senses
to be with the ultimate, the Om,
the Divine where all senses
come together with one Supreme
consciousnes, amalgamation of
senses where knowledge springs forth