Truth

The ultimate truth can not be spoken.
As It rest beyond pen and word.
But if I may, It would appear to be the vortex of open.
No thought there in for judgement to occur.
It would be simultaneously everything, so nothing would It prefer.
A constant blur.
A cosmic slur.
A balanced beam.
Upon no side would It lean.
Truth would have no purpose or nothing to mean.
It is perfectly placed and therefore unseen.
In between.
Ever alert, even in our dreams.
The pinnacle of keen.