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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=476526" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Come Some Moments In The Squalls Of Time</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Come some moments in the squalls of time, <br>however flammable the orchids are <br>behind the burning woodshed, <br>your life turns into an inert gas<br>and you're not holding hands with anything.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Singly the waves go to their graves <br>like trombones in a rock band<br>as harmonicas rave at the moon <br>like lonely dogs that have lost a faithful owner. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">What can you say, what can you say <br>to fill such a vast silence <br>with gravitational eyes that can bend <br>time and light back around your way <br>instead of sending the usual flowers? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Sometimes in the brutal shallows of life <br>you find yourself out hunting dragons <br>with a butterfly net that's gentle on their wings<br>and all you catch are fireflies that sting. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Occasions of insight, eventful revelations, <br>the stars divide into congregations <br>of myopic constellations to improve <br>the ferocity of their narrow points of view.<br>I am the Hunter. I am the Swan. <br>I am the whirling castle of Arianrhod <br>in the last crown of the Celts <br>who could sing in silver almost <br>as well as the moon on an autumn night.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And none of this is true by three in the morning <br>but it will help get you through <br>the worst of yourself like an air raid warning <br>screaming like a banshee at a broken window<br>for your blood in a black out of bombed-out cities. <br>Whatever befalls you in this matrix of accidents <br>you don't attribute to the errors of mere coincidence. <br>You'll catch up in time to whatever you're seeking <br>if you sit still enough to outrun your thought, <br>whether it's a god or an enlightened woman <br>in a Zen brothel, and when you do, you'll say, <br>I love you, and they'll both ask <br>what language you're speaking<br>in the accent of a demotic form of betrothal.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And that's when the roses fall on their thorns <br>like a woman in the doorway of an honourable death<br>and you're dazed by how easy it was <br>for them to believe you were the candle <br>of a friend to the end, until you blew it out <br>to be where you were going on your own in the dark. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Isolate star, flint master of the synderetic spark<br>you chip off your diamond nature <br>like a flake of light in the starless abyss <br>of a dead furnace that died <br>like an underground cedar fire<br>that miscarried a prophet of doom <br>that lived long enough to change his tune<br>and eat a spoonful of his own ashes.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Cat-eyed lucidity of lunar parentheses <br>sharpening your claws on the clouds, <br>mauling small palpitant hearts <br>you're crazed enough to play with<br>as if the world were your toybox, <br>expand your field of vision, <br>deepen your depth perception <br>to include me in your darkness. <br>Initiate me into the mysteries of your fire. <br>Immolate me on a tiger's pyre <br>and scatter my ashes on the brainwave <br>of a holy river like rose petals and the eyelids <br>of the insights I kept as clean <br>as chromium scalpels shining in the moonlight.</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=476526" data-title="Come Some Moments In The Squalls Of Time de Patrick White" data-description="Come some moments in the squalls of time, 
however flammable the orchids are 
behind the burning woodshed, 
your life turns into an inert gas
and you're not holding hands with anything.

Singly the waves go to their graves 
like trombones in a roc..."></div>
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