Know Thyself, And To Thyself...

It's the creeping, weeping sickness,
That cannot be described,
Or explicitly explained.
A penetrating sensation
Somewhere near the solar-plexus
That moves slowly down the gut.
Nervous energy emanating
From the brain,
The fingers,
The pen.
Can the soul be visible?

A palpitating heart,
Constricted,
But at once about to burst-
Hammering heavily at the breast.
Each pulse reverberates-
To think
To feel
To see
To know.
Impossibilities?
Perception reigns o'er
One's subjectivity.

A feeling, a misinterpretation,
An incomprehensible impression,
Causes physical pain.
Is that true-
Possible?
Thought processes
As coherent as the reflections
Of a shattered mirror-
The object known,
The suggested likeness
Unrecognizable as such.

The precipice of self-evaluation
In the realm of the unknown
Is naught-
Is everything.