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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=476560" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Even When Life Sometimes Seems Like A Black Hole</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">for Rebekah Genevieve-Dolorese Garland</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Even when life sometimes seems like a black hole, <br>a dark furnace full of the ashes of burnt roses, <br>it shapes the galaxies into sunflowers and starfish<br>and it's whirling with stars like a Sufi in rapture.<br>All my life I've tried so hard not to be afraid of my joy<br>and at home with my grief like a comfortable chair <br>that was beginning to take on the same airs as my body.<br>A holy war of one, carrying the true cross of the sixties<br>I thought was worth fighting for even long after <br>I realized I was doomed to dancing to the music<br>for the rest of the duration. And it's been as true <br>as Jim Morrison living the afterlife of Arthur Rimbaud<br>in deserts so desolate even the stars were shy of the darkness.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And I have wept bitterly as the moon went down <br>like a toxic goat skull into the only wishing well <br>for light years around, and it seemed, and it's <br>still dangerous to remember because time doesn't blunt all knives, <br>I was witnessing an ideological madness, that had <br>mineralized all the best ideals into fossils, froth <br>like rabies at its own hydrophobic reflection.<br>Biting at its own wounds in vengeance upon itself<br>for the way the water tasted polluted and there was acid rain <br>in the wavelengths of its tears more venomous than a recluse spider.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I saw how people brought armfuls of poppies and wheat<br>to lay down on the stairs of the temple in tribute and love <br>like a sacrifice from the heart they gentled down <br>upon the grave of a loved one that had died too young<br>and hoped would return the blood they were missing<br>as a sign that the roses were mending their severed petals <br>like eyelids being stitched back by the very thorn <br>that had made them bleed in the first place. <br>In a schizzy world, whatever you sacrifice like a lapwing <br>sooner or later, because everything tends toward its opposite<br>like twins that weren't anymore separated at birth<br>than the first and last crescents of the moon, <br>engenders in the nest of cosmic eggs it's dying to protect<br>farce and desecration that tar and feather it like an eclipse.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But every once in awhile that comes as often as now, <br>you meet someone inconceivably shining <br>in her solitude like light through a mysterious jewel <br>into one of the sacred weeping pools of the mindstream<br>and the moon silvers your heart like a sword <br>you were about to fall upon to save your face the trouble<br>and you take the hilt and the blade in both your hands <br>like an autumn equinox that's just bumped into spring<br>wandering off the beaten path to tend her lunar garden<br>and you lay it on the waters because choice isn't an option<br>like the flightfeather of the other wing of the bird<br>that can't take the measure of the immeasurable wingspan<br>of these event horizons, transits, zeniths and thresholds<br>I'm crossing with you like Leo and Virgo<br>across a heartscape of enlightened taboos <br>that have been singing to me all these years from a dark wood<br>like a lucid wavelength hidden in the ore of a particle<br>that only seemed so when you looked at it from afar, </div><div style="margin:10px 0">that drew the sword out of the stone, the star <br>out of the darkness, the waterlily out of the marsh, <br>the heart of someone like you out of the nightsky<br>like a meteor with a panspermic rosary of life at its core<br>falling on the Fertile Crescent of a habitable planet, <br>or a whole new universe, with a punk version<br>of the Garden of Eden where the birds are all listening <br>to the Ramones, and Eve is raving with Adam in a mosh pit <br>teeming with infinite permutations and combinations <br>of love and life, of colour, poetry, light, energy, joy and devotion, <br>as if we'd both disembarked from these empty lifeboats of the heart<br>on the shores of this thriving island of stars <br>where the Milky Way meets the ocean <br>and all the constellations that travelled this Road of Ghosts <br>like the long, dark, strange radiant trip it's been<br>wash the deathmasks off their faces like old myths of origin <br>from the starcharts of our comets and scars <br>that have me smiling at you in wonder like this <br>as if my third eye had just shed its last telescope like a cataract <br>and I were the mesmerized gaping witness <br>to the first moonrise of an avatar of dark bliss<br>studded with the eyes of Isis raising new pyramids <br>in a desert of stars, as light as feathers, as light <br>as the crucibles, chrysales and cocoons of the nebulae giving birth <br>to these poems that break into butterflies of light, <br>fireflies and dragons that roar like supernovas <br>across the firmament, waking the valley up<br>to the morning of a whole new creation <br>as I firewalk along these oceanic shores with you<br>like two constellations when their myriad plinths and petals open <br>and one flower blooms like a bird with two wings <br>and sings because this universe isn't the shape of an hourglass <br>with dry oases and creekbeds dreaming <br>of solar flares behind the mystic veils <br>of flashfloods of the heart long over overdue, <br>but in every illuminated detail of the form you've taken <br>to enter my life, my love, my art, is a perfect likeness of you<br>that I am created again and again in the image of, <br>standing in the doorway of this stargate to love<br>without your metaphors on, so that after all these light years<br>of looking for you like a star through the eye of a needle <br>that felt it had seen enough to know when to turn around and go<br>a firefly like you out of the midnight blue<br>suddenly comes into view and ignites the air around me like the aura <br>of a inflammable passion without a fire extinquisher<br>to put it out because, at long last, as it is above so it is below.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And whether you drink it long and slow, or deep and fast, <br>or sip like a humming bird from your own skull <br>there's an oasis at the bottom of the hourglass <br>that's greening the sands like the grail of a woman<br>passing it to you like the love potion <br>of a water sylph of practising astronomical witchcraft, <br>standing by her well like Circe on her island on the moon<br>turning a man like a vapour of longing in a desiccated wasteland <br>into the full-blooded ocean of the black rose she holds <br>like the sidereal high tide of my life and my love in her hand<br>as the birds are singing in the roots of dark matter<br>like the loveletters of a punk band to the psychedelic sixties <br>and all the trippy, heavy metal flying fish <br>are swimming like cults of urgent stars <br>through the thorns and the crowns of the blossoming locust trees.</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=476560" data-title="Even When Life Sometimes Seems Like A Black Hole de Patrick White" data-description="for Rebekah Genevieve-Dolorese Garland

Even when life sometimes seems like a black hole, 
a dark furnace full of the ashes of burnt roses, 
it shapes the galaxies into sunflowers and starfish
and it's whirling with stars like a Sufi in rapture.
A..."></div>
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