This magic hat, a crown of thorns sometimes
Hard pressed and poignant, we blessedly wear
Till death recumbent stills the joys the care
The strivings found in all sentient forms.
We walk upon this globe each day without
Wonder nor concernment for monolith
Thoughts arisen, seemingly threaded with
Threads still hidden though faithfully throughout
History named and imagined. The full
Ever-vescent multitude, a flash, the
Portion illumined, then grasped as all in all.
This cause repeats repeatedly, a breath
Of mind cognate and fleeting that does swell
Our conscious state to mortal width and breadth.