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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=476572" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Eyes In The Shadows, In Blood, In Space</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Eyes in the shadows, in blood, in space, incubating the light<br>that has yet to be born, wild asters in the deflowered fields of death, <br>and the return of the living out of the eyeless abyss, delinquent, <br>and a redness in the air of this September night, <br>saturating it like a deep wound it holds under its breath, <br>a black rose, a fossilized thorn that no longer grows old, <br>memories fixed like crucified bats to the sticky brown stars <br>of the fanatical burdock trying to wear me like a starmap<br>as if every day of my life has felt like the approach of autumn<br>watching the constellations turn like the pages of a calendar, <br>a waterclock of new moons flowing like dark matter, <br>sundials at midnight encircling me like shark fins <br>slashing the water like sabres with surgical precision <br>and their eyes, oblivion, a focus of shadows, perennial night<br>after a supernova of dismemberment, dehumanizing horrors<br>in a hydrodynamic abattoir. Spirits of old root fires <br>smelling of pine and cedar at large in the dark like hunting magic.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And the clouds a wolf pack of shapeshifters among the stars, <br>the exhilaration of spiritual wariness out in the woods alone at night<br>where it's unwise to trust anything too beautiful at first sight, <br>and a sudden flash of inspired self-destructive courage <br>to do just that in protest of the abuse of beauty as a Venus fly trap. <br>But it's not hard to tell a real muse from a false one <br>because a real muse never wastes her passion on the sane, <br>and if there isn't an occult side to a poet who works his madness <br>like a medium in the dark he had to sacrifice his eyes to see <br>beyond the visuals of the retinas and the cameras<br>with lizard eyelids that blink like guillotines, into <br>these visionary realms where galaxies are shed<br>like the feathers of migrating swans, gravity's gone, <br>and if you want to go up, you've got to go up without a parachute on. <br>Mystic physics. The illogic of the heart delighting <br>in the absurdity of itself just because it can and you can hear <br>a sword master of black Zen singing his heart out in a brothel: <br>A good heretic never disciplines his disobedience.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The brutal moon offers me the cup of my own skull <br>and says drink, and I know it's death to hesitate<br>because you lose control of everything in the moment <br>if you do, so I drink it like an elixir of dark tears <br>from the eye of the shark in eclipse, and I peer <br>into the black mirror of a midnight lake to see <br>if I'm still alive or dead, and the mirror breaks <br>like the unleavened bread of a gnostic gospel in my hands, <br>wholly enraptured by a spell I wasn't ready to wake up from, <br>and I can feel the lustrous radiance of a light <br>so inconceivably darker than the one I go by<br>like a shadow of that, the ferocity of the clarity <br>immolates my heart with a terrible joy <br>in a prophetic furnace of hot diamonds<br>that howl like the insights of a firestorm of dragons in extasis<br>breaking out of their cosmic shells like stars out of the void<br>shining out of the dark heart of things within<br>like eyes seasoned by compassion <br>for the low hanging bells and fruits of the earth<br>trying to express the infinite solitude between birth and death<br>where we walk alone together forever with everyone <br>and everything, like pilgrims sleepwalking <br>in the unattainable dream that animates us all <br>to keep on divining the inspired limitations of the impossible.</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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that has yet to be born, wild asters in the deflowered fields of death, 
and the return of the living out of the eyeless abyss, delinquent, 
and a redness in the air of this September n..."></div>
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