Behind human anatomy

The whitest light blinds me,
Envelopes me,
It tickles my skin,
Irritates my temples,
My mind.
But to show my true being,
I must suffer,
Until the white light,
Makes me blind.

What, O, Lord,
Art I made of,
Created?
The secret tugs at my core,
My soul, and heart.
Speak to me,
O, please,
Inspire me,
Like great works of art.

I need to know the secret,
Deep and obscure.
To see the hard-worked labor,
By decent hand.
Since I have gained,
All other knowledge,
This is the last of my trial,
My final demand.

How could it be,
A brain so fuctional and quick?
A beating heart,
Full of blood and rogue passion?
And something else more beautiful,
Full of wonder,
A soul, a colored aura,
A casting.

O, what is it to be,
Such a thing,
Invisible, mysterious,
Merely a ghost,
That fills my pale skin?
Such a rare glowing orb,
For such a dull,
Ordinary host?

O, Lord,
Your ponderous, intelligent ways
Twists and forms,
And toys with my being,
Of blood, bones,
Flesh, hair, and water.
Water? Water!
That's nothing worth seeing!
But amazing when,
Praying and kneeing.