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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=476638" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>I Have Run My Heart Aground</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">I have run my heart aground <br>like the keel of the moon on the coral<br>and the memory of women I once loved <br>hurts me today <br>like blowback from the furnaces of autumn <br>that went out years ago.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">It's easier to train a dove than a crow <br>and I was a reluctant dragon <br>trying not to roil the water in my wake.<br> <br>Doubting that forgiveness is ever real, <br>I give it and ask it<br>and discharge us all <br>from the degenerating orbits<br>of all the radiant photons that reversed their spin<br>to take one long last look at us <br>as we unspooled like glaciers <br>at each others' feet.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Eventually we're all just flavours of space.<br>And you have to open your hand to hang on, <br>and learn to live with a heart that tolls <br>like a bell or an oyster <br>after its pearl has been plundered<br>and look upon dark, intimate things without a voice. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I have dug deeper than my own bones to get at the truth<br>as if I were an abandoned civilization<br>with nothing left standing <br>but a succession of meaningless gates<br>that no one waits by anymore to meet me.<br> <br>I have added my skull like the moon to the darkness <br>to appeal more deeply to the nightside of life <br>that she might reveal <br>why she always hides me under the bed <br>when I knock on her door from the outside, <br>hoping she'll unlock herself like a coffin <br>and raise the dead.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I may be a starmap blowing down a road on the moon, <br>but there's no wind, no one to walk it, <br>no arrival, no departure<br>no threshold before me, and none behind.<br> <br>In the light of the silent ferocity<br>of a black star longing in the distance for contact, <br>I have intensely held certain, lethal questions <br>up to my throat like a phase of the moon <br>and held myself hostage to the answers<br>until I fell in love with my torment<br>and all these ransom notes turned into poems.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">It's a quaint myth of origin, <br>and even a delusion is some kind of direction, <br>and who's to say the stars <br>aren't in need of correction themselves? <br>And it isn't as if one mirage <br>were more sufficient than another, <br>it's just that we long for the unattainable through them <br>like kites that have run out of atmosphere, <br>and the lie that heals is truer than the one that doesn't.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">So we insisted on being in love<br>as wave after wave<br>we tried to bridge continents <br>to keep our hearts from flatlining.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">What a riot of sorrow and sex and poetry<br>swung us like bells when we walked<br>out of our bomb-proof cathedrals <br>into the intimate dangers of our own lyrical intensities, <br>gouging the eyes out of the constellations we rolled like dice <br>against the writing on the wall. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Love's a big, sloppy sky <br>that smothers you like fog on the ocean <br>when it collapses like a parachute <br>at the end of a sustained fall.<br> <br>Everyone lets go of their demons <br>like kites in a hurricane, <br>like blossoms from an orchard, <br>like flakes of ancient flint<br>as the heart naps its arrowhead of ice<br>in the shadows of the sacred night fire<br>that exhumes the phoenix from the flesh. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Looking back, I am humbled by the memory <br>of how much I couldn't see<br>through a painted window <br>while the moon waited for rain among the willows, <br>but sooner or later you make peace <br>with everyone you can't be <br>and sign a truce with everyone you are <br>and drown your sword in your own blood <br>like a holy war you can't win<br>and keep trying to embody wisdom until you disappear<br>like a homeless bird in the clarity, <br>so perfectly isolated by everything you've ever loved<br>even the sky you fly through <br>can't fit itself like skin <br>around the enormity of the tear <br>that hordes its most intimate fire <br>like a flame thrust into the darkness of an afterlife<br>where the eras and the headstones, <br>the faces under the bedstones, <br>thaw like lockets of ice.</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=476638" data-title="I Have Run My Heart Aground de Patrick White" data-description="I have run my heart aground 
like the keel of the moon on the coral
and the memory of women I once loved 
hurts me today 
like blowback from the furnaces of autumn 
that went out years ago.

It's easier to train a dove than a crow 
and I was a rel..."></div>
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