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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=476479" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>And Though It's Dark And Cold Now</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">And though it’s dark and cold now<br>in this ice palace of broken windows <br>that don’t know whether to bite their lips <br>or cut their wrists like a suicide <br>that took it one step too far<br>like an eclipse that went into exile <br>I remember the swell and release<br>of your breasts in moonlight, <br>rising and falling like a lunar tide.<br>I remember coiling my finger around <br>the soft chestnut tendrils of your hair<br>as if I were dialling a long distance call<br>to someone I knew light years from here<br>who was living her dream <br>like the black sheep of a shepherd moon <br>she was giving her life up to.<br>You were an atmosphere on the nightshift<br>on the intensive care unit of a hospital<br>applying a cool poultice of moonlight <br>to the volcanic burns <br>of more terminal passions<br>than I ever aroused in you. <br>Or thought I ever could.<br>Though time stopped <br>dead in its tracks like a coma<br>whenever I was around you<br>and everything the good doctors <br>found incurably bad about me <br>suddenly went into remission, <br>I knew I was merely <br>a minor miracle in your life. <br>Intermission. Time out. One day <br>every four years to tune up the calendar<br>A blue moon in late October <br>after the harvest’s in<br>and the small birds <br>are gleaning the rags of a garden. <br>Canada geese in the cornfields <br>shredding the last documents <br>of an abandoned embassy heading south.<br>We were Indian summer <br>together for awhile both knowing <br>the frost would come soon enough<br>and one morning I would wake up <br>and look through the window<br>on your side of the bed <br>and say, hey, look, it’s snowing<br>and you wouldn’t be there. <br>And when the time came, you weren’t.<br>And I spent the next six years of my life <br>numb with understanding<br>in the snake pit of a Zen morphine drip<br>blessing the beauty of the knife<br>and the wound you left me with<br>like a thorn of light under the eyelids <br>of a new moon in full eclipse.<br>An eyepatch over the third eye <br>of an enlightened planet <br>that felt just like any other<br>starless night on earth without you.<br>And though I hurt like a lamp <br>that couldn’t see you<br>even when the sun shone at midnight<br>I knew enough about attachment even then<br>not to hold up hope <br>like a cage to the wind. <br>I never laid a trap line<br>along the path you took to leave. <br>I let the silence and the solitude <br>I returned to like a night bird <br>to a white-out deep in the woods<br>efface your footprints in the snow. <br>I knew I had to stay. <br>And I knew you had to go. <br>That one mile east is one mile west<br>like two feet going in opposite directions <br>down a road that doesn’t have any. <br>And though sometimes I look <br>at the moon these days <br>and say to myself <br>what a little scar it is <br>to cover so much <br>that’s dark and wounded <br>about the human heart, <br>I still haven’t changed the broken windows<br>I often find myself standing before <br>to take a long, good, hard, <br>dark, radiant look at life<br>to see if it’s still crying outside, <br>for a thermal-paned, fire-walled website<br>prophetically updating the virtual weather. <br>I’m still throwing stones <br>with loveletters attached to your absence<br>like the moon through the windows <br>of a glass palace in an ice-age <br>I know will thaw by itself in time<br>like the whirling Castle of Arianrhod, <br>the hot gem of Celtic heaven shining <br>in the afterlife of the Northern Crown<br>down upon these small human acts <br>of estranged encounters with our own kind<br>where we meet each other in passing <br>at the gate of a cosmic garden <br>that no one was tending at the time, <br>and long after the one has gone their way<br>and the other has gone inside.<br>Long after the flowers have died<br>that were strewn across <br>each others’s paths through life <br>like the spring on a windy night; <br>no matter how vulnerable it makes us<br>to being a prime candidate<br>among many with their sensible shoes on<br>to firewalk barefoot <br>on a starmap of burning thorns <br>into the darkness of enlightenment<br>to stay attached to the unattainable<br>the way we both were to the same stars.<br>Even when the morning glory <br>overruns the New England asters, <br>we leave the gates thereafter open<br>as if the whole heart of the dark matter <br>of why we love and suffer, bloom<br>and come to fruition <br>in the light of each other <br>as if the aurora borealis<br>that mystified our nights on earth<br>with the sheen of cool Persian silks of insight<br>blowing over the flesh and blood of mystic serpents <br>then die back into our brief lifespan <br>like a solar flare back into its sunspots<br>were still hanging <br>on one star<br>one eye<br>one wing<br>one prayer<br>one hinge.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Patrick+White">Patrick White</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=476479" data-title="And Though It's Dark And Cold Now de Patrick White" data-description="And though it’s dark and cold now
in this ice palace of broken windows 
that don’t know whether to bite their lips 
or cut their wrists like a suicide 
that took it one step too far
like an eclipse that went into exile 
I remember the swell an..."></div>
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