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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=476637" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>I Have Never Said</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">I have never said to anyone that I loved them <br>	and not meant stars, not meant soft green lanterns, not <br>		meant the light coming out of the dark<br>and fireflies on a windy summer night by a black lake <br>	or the lamp that draws the doe out of the shadows<br>		or the moon drunk quicksilver in the inebriated window<br>warping its image through the delusional weeping <br>	of dirty winter glass signed like a guestbook <br>		by everybody’s tears, inside and out, and this <br>still the case though I’m old enough to know <br>	all that crying never turned into a single chandelier <br>		and sad ink’s a bigger liar thread for thread <br>than the dyes of joy that colour the whole head hopeful. <br>	And I have lain like an island of flesh in a coven of candles <br>		beside cool dolphins with seabird hands<br>off the coast of my longing, and marvelled <br>	at the amazing bridges of their bodies <br>		and how they nudged my shipwrecked heart ashore.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I have never said to anyone that I loved them<br>	and not meant the mountain ribbon of a bloodstream<br>		that could fill to the brim the infinite cosmic goblet<br>of an eye, emptier than a telescope dying of thirst <br>	in a desert of stars, with the wine of its endless flowing; <br>		never said I love you to a tree or a door or a cat <br>or the chain of footprints I drag through the snow like the past <br>	and not meant some era of a woman <br>		who came and stayed awhile with me <br>in the desolate shadows of a late afternoon apartment <br>	like the first rising of a second moon <br>		I could live on alone in a garden of skulls and fountains. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And even when I draw the suicidal hypotenuse <br>	of love’s last crescent across my left wrist <br>		to bury myself in an alma mater of unsanctified ground, <br>having given a hand to the death of a savage passion, <br>	or swept my continental vision off the table <br>		back into the coffin like an archipelago <br>of missing jigsaw pieces, more vacancies than a honeymoon hotel <br>	everytime I try to assemble it, I still know <br>		even if it isn’t vouched to me, <br>that love is life, and life is a bride <br>	that walks to the altar of her mysterious sacrifice alone, <br>		trailing her ancient veil of stars <br>along this endless road of ghosts, and somehow <br>	even when I’m the corpse of a fox in the ditch <br>		among the white, sweet, wedding clover, <br>having been struck from the glare of her highbeams, <br>	it is always somehow strangely okay <br>		and foolishly worth it.</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=476637" data-title="I Have Never Said de Patrick White" data-description="I have never said to anyone that I loved them 
	and not meant stars, not meant soft green lanterns, not 
		meant the light coming out of the dark
and fireflies on a windy summer night by a black lake 
	or the lamp that draws the doe out of the sha..."></div>
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