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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=476667" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>I Won't Turn The Shadow Of The Sundial Back</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">I won't turn the shadow of the sundial back <br>to replicate the asters that bloomed yesterday<br>and were lovely as the wrists of a child <br>playing with perfume in front her mother's mirror, <br>I remember, without wanting to turn them <br>again and again and again into a template.<br>I don't mind grinding the past <br>into a parabolic mirror to see where I've been <br>in the last fourteen and a half billion years <br>but as I get older, that isn't going to give me <br>an insight into the future of darkness <br>I'm rushing into like an accelerated fool <br>where the angels are not self-destructive enough to pass. <br>The most beautiful songs are sung in the dark <br>by the loneliest of creatures endangered by the night. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I've been a jumper for as long as I can recall <br>and sometimes it's sheer suicide, and others, <br>even though I don't pack a parachute for the fall, <br>it's paradise. No risk in your next step <br>you're just crossing a river on a bridge of skulls. <br>No real Apaches in the Black Hills you're just <br>collecting postcards of the massacre, <br>buttons and bullets in a garden that went bust.<br>How can you keep your wits sharp<br>and hone your instincts in an arboretum? <br>Drug-store explorer with a library of roadmaps, <br>you've feathered your heels with lapwings and poultry<br>and flutter around like butterflies in a barnyard.<br>You ever tried firewalking across the stars? <br>Or put a match to a poem you loved like a storm? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">If you're not proceeding at your own risk <br>the journey's not worth it. It's someone else's path. <br>It's only another threadbare carpet under a window. <br>May the rose always have thorns. May your lovers <br>always be able to kill you without a moment's notice <br>and your fireflies revert to dragons when your comets<br>are flying blind too far from the sun to shine.<br>You be the one that's missing from the family album <br>for a change.You be the one who's moody and strange. <br>The blasted orchard that isn't known by its fruits. <br>Stop revising that diary of event horizons <br>you've never violated once, and instead of <br>dumping your dirty sheets down a laundry chute <br>into the basement, go skinny-dipping in a black hole<br>to wash the stink and stain of useage off.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">You keep listening for choral arrangements <br>of mellifluous honey in swarms of killer bees <br>without realizing the maelstrom that is already upon you. <br>Your mountains aren't wolves. They're St Bernards. <br>Have you ever been the epicentre of anything <br>you've ever said, or have you always been third echo <br>in this choir of indignant aftershocks? Would you even <br>recognize the sound of your own voice <br>if you ever heard it in a keen-eyed wilderness <br>among the nightbirds with the courage of their longings? <br>And I see you've gone and offended the muse again<br>by lowering the bar of your pain threshold<br>and fireproofing your heart against a lightning strike. <br>You think hugging shore with the rest <br>of the abandoned refugees is going to keep you <br>any safer than a liferaft flowing along <br>with your own mindstream through blackwater and white? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">You can embroider your nightmares on pillow cases<br>and think you're going to sleep better tonight <br>than the homeless that are banked up like leaves <br>against your door. You can bleach the shadows <br>into albinos and think you've done something <br>kind to yourself, but all you've really done <br>is make the light turn dangerous. The sun bare its fangs<br>at the colour blind cowardice of antiseptic flowers. <br>Not a cheap thrill of blood on your palette anywhere.<br>Talent smiles like a house karl, but genius snarls <br>at the thorn of insight in its paw like a lion on a cross<br>roars like lightning in a skull at the rosey stigmata <br>of a fresh kill that tastes like the stars in its blood.<br>Solitude isn't a state of mind, it's a calculated risk.<br>You either jump into the lotus of fire heart first<br>and dare your own extinction among great heretics<br>or collapse like a universe into a starless abyss.</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=476667" data-title="I Won't Turn The Shadow Of The Sundial Back de Patrick White" data-description="I won't turn the shadow of the sundial back 
to replicate the asters that bloomed yesterday
and were lovely as the wrists of a child 
playing with perfume in front her mother's mirror, 
I remember, without wanting to turn them 
again and again and..."></div>
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