Reality is geometry bent 
  Into brains of imaginative display,
And sharply shaped along the way its sent
  To turn things into conscious word play:

Where the warp and woof of stuff is found
  By the light of sight crafted by the ages.
How blind, though, are the perceptions that sound
  The depths of the cosmic scope that presages

The end of our knowledge and the end of knowing.
  Yet even so, as branches stretch for the sun,
That they never reach but grants them their growing,
  So we seek the omniscient perfection.

And as that star bends the fabric down, down,
  Be guided, my friend, to fall, round, round
The Upmost, the Ideal, the brighter Crown -
  The Guide in the night that we all surround.

Featured image: ‘Eight-fold screen painting of the Sun, Moon, and Peach Trees,’ Korean art, artist unknown (19th century), image in the public domain.

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