Figures of black and white
Walk around in the street
Half black, half white,
They all bow and greet.

Inside some are complete
Shade of black
Inside some are complete
Shade of white.

Only if I could look into their eyes
Only if I could know who they really are
Only if I knew they were like smoke of a cigar,
White from outside and black from inside.

Is there some way to know
If they are truly sincere?
If they are more white than black?
If being more white is rare?

Figures of black and white
They may deceive you in the shade
Figures of black and white
In the darkness they completely fade.

Solitude ground of ashen field
The fire burnt memories feign
Happiness, joy, elucid emotions
In a place where the truth is buried.

Dry leaves left with none trodden on
Talking of theft and safety gone
In a field so tireless and abandoned
But one day comes when one reshapes surroundings.

That day will make all the bonding.

Soon, the masterpiece will come.
Shh, soon you’ll fall asleep,
And maybe in your dreams discover
Words and lines to keep.

For the darkness is a tunnel
Straight to Heaven’s door,
There a thousand poets wait for you -
A thousand gone before,
Before their works were finished,
Before their jobs were through
Now creation of the masterpiece
Is solely up to you.

Hear their spirit, poet!
Listen very close.
You’ve been chosen as the protégé
But do not brag or boast
For the masterpiece consumes you,
Like hell-fire, burns you up,
Leaves you thirsting for some water
And reaching for a cup,
That crumbles when you grab it.
While the water turns to dust,
But still you keep on reaching, reaching,
You must, you must, you must.

Feel their breath, oh poet!
Cool upon your skin,
Though sweat and perspiration
Reveal the torment trapped within.
For the masterpiece consumes you,
Like a pen that’s out of ink,
Leaves you reaching for a pencil,
And needing time to think,
But both ends are erasers
Now your passion turned to lust
So still you keep on reaching, reaching,
You must, you must, you must.

For the darkness is a tunnel
A tunnel straight to Hell
There a thousand poets wait for you -
At a long abandoned well,
Before their works were finished,
The waters all ran dry
There will be no masterpiece
If all the poets die.

Shh, soon the masterpiece will come.
Shh, soon you’ll fall asleep,
And a thousand poets after you
Will search for words and lines to keep.
Phil Lindsey 6/9/15

Is there somethig you're hiding
Underneath that skin?
A black heart maybe
Millions of black sins.

Is there something you want to say
Through those lips which dare to quiver?
Some nervous thoughts maybe
Some to cause a tremour.

Is there something you're afraid of
Although you always look so strong?
A little insect maybe
Or a ghost, if I am not wrong.

Don't just bury it beneath
The stars also do this
They shine and we adore it
But we know we can't touch them
Just say it
Before the tornado comes
And snatches away your world.

Is there something you know?
Is there something which you're afraid to show?
Are you evil or are you kind?
We'll only know when we'll find
Who you are, what you do
The universe plays this game with us
Please don't, tell us
What you hide
You need to confide
Or else the secrets die
With you
Before you even know..