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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=476713" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>It's Good To Know</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">It's good to know you're there; <br>	though the world is a diatribe <br>		of waltzing trains and threshing razors, <br> <br>it's good to know <br>	a door burns for me somewhere in the darkness, <br>		a bell waits like a nipple of silence <br>and your blood waits like a language, <br> a rose of rain in a starfield, <br>		that my mouth alone can say to the night <br>in a shudder of light that only the blind can hear, <br>	sipping from a chalice of water<br>		spiked with diamond nails.<br> <br>My heart flashes across the sky <br>	and buries itself like a meteor <br>		at the cornerstone of a sightless temple <br>pillared by faithless candles<br>	that flirt with the shadows <br>		of the fire in their eyes, <br>and I'm bridges beyond any way back the way I came, <br>	my wake the scar of a vapour trail <br>		in yesterday's cherry sunset, <br>and I still catch myself at my worst <br>	whenever I'm good; <br>		there's always a thread of blood on the water, <br>and a half-finished suicide note on the mirror<br>	scrawled in manic lipstick, <br>		and a gravestone <br>I carry around on my shoulders like a skull <br>	that feels like the weight of the world, <br>		and a child leftover from an ancient crib-death <br>that is often afraid of me, <br>	and a ferocity of freedom <br>		that thaws my deepest thoughts like chains, <br>and bleaches every feeling like a wound <br>	in the antiseptic of the sun<br>		that bites like a mystic arrow <br>that was feathered with a message<br> before I was born to find me; </div><div style="margin:10px 0">	but it's good to know <br>your fury and your gentleness, <br>	the glow and heat of your chimneys and fireflies, <br>		your altars of wind and smoke <br>spuming across the vastness of the solitude <br>	like blood and chalk <br>		and lines written after school<br>on the blackboard shale of my river skin<br>	still trying to reform its way to the sea; </div><div style="margin:10px 0">		it's good to look at the moon <br>through your passionate windows<br>	and taste the fragrant honey of your darkness <br>		attuning the tines of my tongue<br>to a fork in the road of your body, <br>	to the delta of an unknown civilization, <br>		to the mystery of rivers entwined like serpents.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And the vines of the words <br>	that have sought me out <br>		like blood vessels and burning bushes<br>and the blossoming fingers of someone<br>	kneading a face <br>out of the huge volume, <br>the pure space of my unattainability: <br> <br>	o you have said things to me<br>		in ink and water and brandy and fire, <br>in night and moonlight and poppies and tears <br>	that have made the hardest rocks <br>		on the highest slopes <br>of my mountains and cloudy ladders bleed<br>	to be opened like a harvest of love-letters in a bomb-shelter<br>		by the tenderness of your knives again and again, <br>urgent with beauty and joy<br>	to be overthrown<br>		by the whisper of your voice in the valley<br>triggering this skyborn avalanche<br>	of nocturnal thrones.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">		And the bells turn into vases <br>and the vases into urns<br>	and the urns back into the wombs <br>		of a thousand terminal exiles<br>tolling like a heartbeat <br>	with a passport and a threshold, <br>		and though I am no longer <br>the leaf of hope <br>	that aspired to rudder <br>		the firestream of these volcanic transformations, </div><div style="margin:10px 0">it's good to drift awhile <br>	in the dreamtime of this endless night<br>		like recoverable salvage <br>among the lanterns of your searching lifeboats <br>	and the reaping eyes <br>		of your eloquent islands of light.</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=476713" data-title="It's Good To Know de Patrick White" data-description="It's good to know you're there; 
	though the world is a diatribe 
		of waltzing trains and threshing razors, 
 
it's good to know 
	a door burns for me somewhere in the darkness, 
		a bell waits like a nipple of silence 
and your blood waits like ..."></div>
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