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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=476705" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Innocent As Gravity And It's Raining</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Innocent as gravity and it's raining. <br>Trying to paint a Monarch butterfly into a starscape <br>where all the wavelengths have been woven <br>by a third eye into a spider web. This morning <br>the left and right hemispheres of my brain <br>are separated like an hourglass undergoing <br>the meiosis of galaxies whose lustre's greyed<br>by the senile pearl of the sky. I want to play <br>aspirationally like fireflies among the stars, <br>but a gust of shadows has snuffed all the candles <br>and if I'm seeing stars at all, it's like a rainbow<br>wearing a Joseph's coat of colours<br>at the bottom of a well that hasn't granted a wish in awhile.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">My heart's a loom of dissonant wavelengths <br>trying to weave my bloodstream like a carpet <br>it can fly away on braiding all these weak threads <br>and the light of all these images they carry <br>like the genomes of the souls of the dead<br>into the d.n.a. of a stronger spinal cord <br>I can use like a rope to climb up to the sky and beyond. <br>All my gravitational lensing has turned into bells of glass <br>and I'm walking on the splinters and plinths <br>of things that have come and passed, bearing these urns <br>transmigrationally like amphorae on a shipwreck <br>to the bottom of a subconscious watershed.<br>More sad than depressed, but dark just the same <br>as if all the dazzling suns and lapidary moons<br>with stars in their eyes that went into the wine <br>had just closed them in eclipse. Gone back to sleep <br>as it seems so many flowers to dream a better dream.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">What need of my acceptance of what comes or doesn't<br>when my denial or assent are absorbed in its presence? <br>As if I had a say in my own solitude. Or the birds <br>could get in the way of their own singing. Or the rain <br>could choose the window pane it wanted to look through.<br>However I labour to refute it, my awareness <br>is as spontaneously inclusive as time and space, <br>or closer to home, the sea its own weather, foul or fair.<br>I can't extinguish the desert that burns within me <br>in a mirage of water, nor drown the stars in my tears <br>like the tiny insects that sometimes fly into my eyes<br>that wash their wings out like sodden punctuation marks<br>uprooted like sprouting seeds in a sudden flashflood of insight.<br>I can't catch up to the light. And I can't run from it. <br>Whether it stings like a nettle or soothes like an aloe<br>it's always the muse, the mysterium of here and now, as it is, <br>firefly, or dragon that brings the rain, that I follow<br>in this discipline of disobedience to what I know and let go of<br>so that it rains just as often from below as it does from above.</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=476705" data-title="Innocent As Gravity And It's Raining de Patrick White" data-description="Innocent as gravity and it's raining. 
Trying to paint a Monarch butterfly into a starscape 
where all the wavelengths have been woven 
by a third eye into a spider web. This morning 
the left and right hemispheres of my brain 
are separated like ..."></div>
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