Conscious Ones

The maelstrom rages, a watery roar,
Its currents twisting on a whim.
The tiny fish are pulled along.
They fight and dart, attempt to swim.

Mindless, frantic, battling on,
Hurled around the water's track,
Silver scales in flickering light,
Struggling on, but still clawed back.

Unguided, round the little fish fly,
Controlling nothing in that grasp.
This is life, was life, will be
Their life until the very last.

Outside the storm - the calm, green bank.
A single fish flaps on the ground.
Flung from its world it gasps and cries
Whilst the maelstrom howls, drowning the sound.

The fish lies quiescent, life nearly spent,
Unblinking eyes seeing the storm.
Behind these bright eyes the system is seen,
The maelstrom unfolded, the conscious newborn.

The maelstrom rages, a watery roar,
The creature lies dying, contented yet lost.
The consciousness gained makes it more than it was.
Mind is born, but life is the cost.