Finding the mystery

When I read I see black and white
But there are all these shades of gray
Many left from these who did not do right
what was suppose to be made the right way

When I write I make verses and spread them in lines
People say one should read in-between
The sad poet writes drinking glasses of whine
It turns out the mystery is within.

The mastery, though, is outside, I crave
Because the mastery leads you to be free.
But to have a soul that can whatever fabric weave
a friend of Wisdom everyone should be.

I will find my way by just making it clear
I will bind my words, my art, to my beating heart
This verse and the place we must be is right here
let faith begin, let love start.