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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=476724" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Journey</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">I’m on some kind of journey <br>	but I don’t know where it’s going; <br>		I’m growing wings and shedding them, <br>and I’m true to every thought in my head. <br>	I’ve got a heart, worn down at heels, <br>		a used voodoo doll quilled like a native, <br>a meteorically battered planet <br>	that wobbles between a kiss and a fist <br>		in the way it keeps running itself around. <br>I spend too much time alone. <br>	There are no obstructions in any direction; <br>		and barefoot, I’m walking on stars and poppies, <br>talking to myself like a candle, <br>	weaving my way among the shadows <br>		like a fish through the supple harps<br>of the silver river reeds. I see <br>	that I’m taking a bath in my own grave <br>		to wash the soiled skies of the painted world <br>off my eyes, to behold <br>	the brief career of the leaf of life <br>		and how the light gusts out from the windows <br>like curtains and bird-nets. Life is short <br>	and the new temple never gets further built<br>		than a hole and a single cornerstone, the rest <br>left to the business of the earth, <br>	all that beauty and magnificence, <br>		unravelled among the mud weavers. <br>I was inoculated against death <br>	by a splinter of the moon; <br>		by how little time there is for love, <br>for the root to get drunk <br>	on the fruits of enlightenment and compassion, <br>		by how little I will ever know <br>of the road to the doorway I stepped through <br>	to stand in awe before the moonspill <br>		on the raven blue waters, <br>and to look so deeply into the eyes of a woman<br>	who has just conceded an island in her passage, <br>		and the fragrance of unheard music <br>that I am a pillar of wonder <br>	before the unsayable<br>		as she lets dropp her shadows and feathers of light, <br>and the blood-god assumes<br>	his flowering crown of fire <br>		to enhance the splendours of his courtly intensities. <br>What I have lost in the river <br>	I will find in the river <br>		and what I have taken from the sky <br>I will give back to the sky, <br>	and there shall come a day <br>		when the eclipse will be the brighter mirror, <br>and the darkness that overtakes me now <br>	will be a gate of stars to a water palace <br>		where the dragonflies and waterlilies <br>are the sceptres and crowns of a human divinity <br>	that will endure like a whisper of radiance, <br>		a more haunting taste of light, <br>the rumour of a black rose <br>	that outshines the angels<br>		that coax the lanterns out of the night. <br>I will evaporate like the flaring of fireflies <br>	on the windy shore of a trembling lake, <br>		like the blue hat plume of smoke<br>from a gallant winter chimney <br>	into the vastness of my own mind <br>		like a waterbird without a trace into a sweeter, wilder solitude. <br>And these words will come and go <br>	like the tides of the ocean I was, <br>		like the providential leaves <br>of unfurling fortune-cookies, <br>	like an avalanche of gold <br>		washed down from the mountain upstream.<br>I write them in flowing diamond, <br>	I write them in auroras of blood, <br>		in dawns bluer than the iris of a peacock’s eye, <br>in fire and water and the mystic inks of the night <br>	in the fleeting, indelible dream<br>		of doors and hands and moons, <br>in warm breath on a cold window, <br>	in a halo of comets <br>		smeared into light by the sun, <br>in the sidereal wines that bled from bitter wounds, <br>	I have said what it was mine to say<br>		on a page of the wind <br>that whistled through me like life<br>	greening the sands of the hourglass <br>		with visions that ripened the bell of blood in my heart<br>to fall like wisdom from its tower<br>	toward a fallible paradise <br>		that won’t leave me as I am for long. <br>And I will jump again <br>	into this cauldron of joys and sorrows <br>		to string my spinal cord <br>over the abyss of the guitar-shaped universe, <br>	walking upright<br>		to plead with my own answers <br>to thaw like a mirror <br>	estranged from the world it reflects <br>		in the self-effacing flames<br>of the passionate gardens that dance on the wicks. <br> 	The awakening seed <br>		 echoes these flowers of fire<br>in the valley of a voice in the furnace <br>	that lies down in the cool grass <br>		by a stream of idle stars <br>and arrays its vagrant heart <br>	like a breeze of blood in the dust <br>		to the refugees in the shadows. <br>They move like eyelids <br>through all the phases of the moon <br>	from an unspooled well of darkness<br> to the slash of a razor of light<br>	to the threshing of the full harvest<br>		in the siloes of the nightwind<br>enthroned like a breath of life <br>	in the midst of its own dispersal.</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=476724" data-title="Journey de Patrick White" data-description="I’m on some kind of journey 
	but I don’t know where it’s going; 
		I’m growing wings and shedding them, 
and I’m true to every thought in my head. 
	I’ve got a heart, worn down at heels, 
		a used voodoo doll quilled like a native, 
a..."></div>
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