Analysis of Soul is ancient

This existence is all or nothing;
hot or cold.

My soul is ancient;
so, so old.

Scoffing soft pastels,
I graffiti this world,
hard and bold.

I do florese,
with finesse;
if you hadn't heard,
now you have been told.

Ever distant,
being thirteen light years gone.
Truth being,
much rather be live;
close to hold.

But,
this heart? 
Cold,
more so than,
the winter oceans' enfold.

However,
when inspired:
incendiary, glowing;
F1 manifold.

Love still viable,
The paradigm?
Jaded,
guarded,
and patrolled.

My soul is ancient;
so, so old.

Accruing lexicons,
throughout the ages;
my percipitence grows.
The past repeats itself;
so,
have your present untold.

Debanoir linguist behold;
I exude average two-fold.
See,
rather hear:
my tounge is pure platinum,
not merely your lowly 24kt gold.

I will be coming back,
to the future;
this had been foretold.

Attentiveness you must uphold,
for this epic,
shall not be retold.

This focus,
my creative opus,
being uncontrolled;
resolute is my veracity,
and I shall not withhold.

Please procure,
another bag of dreams,
as I author them,
they are deluded,
then resold.

Battle ready;
within the warrior's curriculum,
I stay enrolled.

With stolen Death's sithe,
after striking a non-existent nose,
ever sharpening it,
while I transpose,
this verse to reality via asylum,
which for your saftey,
has I enclosed.

My soul is ancient,
so, so old.