Reality of my Soul

Brilliance flashes through my mind,
like lightening in the night.
It's truth my eyes can't see,
my soul grants my sight.

My expression tool firmly in hand,
words appear as black ink.
My soul writes few words of unknown truth,
of the missing link.

I want to write what can't be seen,
unwanted truth; reality.
My confusing soul lingers interpretation,
something of mortality.

Is it brilliance or undefined psychosis;
perhaps complex, but sane.
Wisdom overflows my psyche,
the price is forbidden pain.

My tired old soul is weak,
yet lessons slowly surface,
greatly desiring rest.
Concepts speed through my head symbolizing
life-times of the ultimate test.

Confusion results with my words,
like a billow destroying concepts
of my pen.
My soul is the author,
the writings speak of abstract
truth not imaginary sin.

Mystique forms my shadow of yellow,
it's rare yet mesmerizing to the blind eye.
Souls epitome to mine embrace upon me,
grasping the concept of breathing a lie.

Fractions of the static knowledge remain
far out of reach;
it's the gold royalty key.
I dare not wonder for from my pen,
for my soul pulses insight beyond my eyes where I see.