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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=476617" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>I Bring You Nothing Like A Featherless Bird</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">I bring you nothing like a featherless bird <br>that's fallen from a nest, a sailor that knows <br>how he's failed the wind all by himself<br>like a black sail off the coast of his hopeless gates. <br>But the doves in an avalanche of regrets <br>couldn't reach that far into an advanced salvation<br>well past the last unmanned constellation of the cross. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I do not bring you my martyrdom like a relic of coal <br>from a primeval eclipse of occult flowers <br>for you to weep over like diamonds on a sunny day.<br>I do not ask you to kiss the curse of my birthmark <br>nor average out what's crucial about the way <br>I approach life like a dragon in its sleep <br>as if I wanted to whisper something new in its ear. <br>I don't need a sunspot to play dice with the sun. <br>Nor the rafter of a bird in flight to hold my tent up.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I'm not looking for someone to lie down nude<br>like a threshold to my solitude in candle light<br>so I can define the perimeters of my mindscape <br>with the boundary stones of sacred meteors<br>that found whole new religions just to find out <br>how far from home they've fallen from their cornerstones. <br>My skull and crossbones can't be wracked up <br>on an abacus of one-eyed grocery clerks called to account<br>for the way they nibble like a lottery <br>on the tender green shoots of hope rooted <br>in an astronomical chance against making a quick recovery. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Look at me, little sister, look at the scars, look <br>at the skeletons I've welded back together <br>like bicycle frames in a back room repair shop.<br>Look at the lost chains of the orbits that wouldn't gear down <br>to roll their planets over the hill, and the hot spears <br>of the stars that extinguished the radiance of their rage <br>on my flesh like killer bees. There's no starmap <br>I've tattooed on my heart that's going to guide you <br>to Treasure Island. I'm the sky burial of a crystal skull<br>born without a ghost to keep up my grave<br>out of affection for all the good times we've had. <br>The mines of my eyes are empty of jewels. <br>But if I were to encounter you shining<br>like the high priestess of the silver star <br>it would be as a sword I return in tribute<br>to the water sylphs that enchant the holy pools <br>that have washed my face off more than once<br>like the wounded reflection of a lunar deathmask<br>not a plough that ruts the moon for seeding.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I bleed like stained glass when I lose my faith in nothing. <br>And you can smell sacrilege on my breath <br>when the wolves are wiser than the sheep they shepherd<br>and the wind isn't quoting chapter and verse<br>to the birds that circle the mountain like fossils of stars. <br>I snarl and snap at the hands of the children <br>they send to tame me, gnaw through the throats <br>of snake-necked swans that glide too close to shore <br>like a small town flotilla in a lilac parade for heritage tourists.<br>I'm a reptile with my third eye open <br>to the cold bloodedness of life witching in the grass<br>with the impersonality of an agitated shard of glass<br>and a bird's eye view of what won't get off the ground.<br>I'm an igneous anvil of planets. My pulse, the windfall <br>of a heavy bombardment of toxic oxygen<br>adding another hallucinogen to the atmosphere.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I live in swamps and low places like a rat snake <br>in a nunnery of waterlilies with perfect penmanship<br>though I seldom write letters home to the ones I love.<br>I invite the silence to remain dangerous and alone.<br>It's not a career where the talking's all done for you. <br>It's a calling, and you have to listen hard <br>for what you cannot hear. What you cannot <br>see with the eyes. Calibrate with the mind. <br>Imprint on the heart when it's at its most vulnerable.<br>Opiated affections and their buzzed out imitations <br>as passionate as thermostats at room temperature <br>might be okay for goldfish in a shark bowl <br>but I want you fed to me viviparously alive.</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=476617" data-title="I Bring You Nothing Like A Featherless Bird de Patrick White" data-description="I bring you nothing like a featherless bird 
that's fallen from a nest, a sailor that knows 
how he's failed the wind all by himself
like a black sail off the coast of his hopeless gates. 
But the doves in an avalanche of regrets 
couldn't reach t..."></div>
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