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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=476782" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Night Of Peace</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">NIGHT OF PEACE</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Night of peace in the midst of trouble, of heavy stones <br>longing for lighter hearts, and cherries swelling like stars <br>looking for their lost constellations, mournful train in the distance<br>tracking the past through dark woods, and the thick, moist air <br>sweating over its anvils, people everywhere in the hot streets <br>looking for each other in a trance of water, alcohol, dope, <br>homing in oblivion, face to face, breathing each other in <br>as enemy, friend, lover, abused and abuser, rich man, pauper, <br>all the status of alloys and metals, their hands, gold, their faces <br>iron and copper, radioactive chatter of leaden half-lifes <br>trying to empty the loneliness out of their boots like stale wine; <br>this one drinking sapphires, that, the blood of black diamonds, <br>and the acids that fall on their own hearts like treacherous rain: <br>and the pain and the pain and the pain of the horrible masks <br>pasted together of leeches, newspapers, dead skies, wet leaves, <br>and the look of the windows, resigned to despair and mannequins, <br>old wedding cakes, the tels and barrows of a round-headed people in arrears, </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I would be down on my knees in tears at altars of bone<br>if you were not the lantern in the roots of the music, if you<br>in your distant solitude were not the lily of the way that’s open, <br>the palace of blood with the frozen chandeliers that once wept like time<br>in a ballgown, you, the willow and the dancer, and me the shadow that asked you, <br>trembling with stars that might be ready to marry into life again, <br>and the mirrors that served the drinks to my courage, confounding<br>the lines, appointing three mouths ambassadors to the answer, <br>avatars of lime that sleep in the journals of the skirtless poppies, <br>and now this, before kisses and signs, your hand in mine<br>and the black swans back on the living river, entwined<br>in the flowing scripts and unspooled inks of the knowing<br>and the suicides back in their boxes with the broken dolls in the attic <br>and the old angers, the flash re-entries, meteors that smashed the pain<br>on exhibit in their temples of glass in retributive museums.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Orchids in the rain that bloom beside the rusting knife <br>like a slash of blood that rosed the silver with sainted veils, <br>we shall drink the mystery of our faces from grails <br>that have kept their secrets safe in the hearts of fools<br>that know how to love what the others can’t see to lose, <br>this menagerie of scars and chasms that says me into you <br>in a voice that was always ours under the bridge of broken choirs<br>where we lived like token fires fluttering in the ashes.<br>You, fountain, you, starwheat, you, silk and nightshade<br>with your small bouquets of linked tears learning to seed <br>your wounds with mirrors that bleed the arrows away<br>and the sad pilgrims who wrote in reverse on a puppet-stage, <br>gone like the children who laughed in their own mad faces.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Gone the black bell full of bees that drowned in their honey<br>and the darkness that swallowed its stone roads to the fair, <br>and the bruise in the corner nursing her lyrics of hair<br>and the blind tree that tore off its clothes in the fire<br>and went up in a blaze of worms, naked, to the stars.<br>How can the night know your shy defense of the wind, <br>and these soft events of light that stagger me with bliss<br>when I say your name in marrow, in silence, in thresholds and lips, <br>and oceans wash their keyboards up on the shores of my fingertips<br>and the only thing I know how to play for the eye of an island<br>is the gusty phosphor of fireflies that burn like notes in the air? <br>You, love, you, most, you, dove-fire in the walls of my heart, <br>You the blue shadow on the stairwells of my life and art, <br>You the sky that binds my voice in a skin of red auroras, <br>You, child in a wild apple crown, and you, the lynx by the river, <br>You more than the me when the moon’s a golden sliver, <br>You the new magic of waking wizards, you, dawn and dispersal, <br>You this dolphin tide of leaping seas without reversal, <br>You the tree where all my words are birds asleep in your branches; <br>And you, and only you, the candle in the shrine of the mystic chances<br>I take to know your flame on my water, as the stars grow hotter <br>and like a stream, like a hand, a vine, a man who loves blue, <br>this night of peace advances toward the gates of the radiance <br>he longs to step through like a poet enraptured by fate into you.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">PATRICK WHITE</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=476782" data-title="Night Of Peace de Patrick White" data-description="NIGHT OF PEACE

Night of peace in the midst of trouble, of heavy stones 
longing for lighter hearts, and cherries swelling like stars 
looking for their lost constellations, mournful train in the distance
tracking the past through dark woods, and ..."></div>
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