<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=476815" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>One Day Your Mouth</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">One day your mouth just opens <br> like a rose or an eye or an oyster <br> that bloomed in the night <br>when you weren’t looking <br> and whispers things you should have said <br> in the defense <br>of your own innocence <br> and didn’t, things <br> that should have been defended with fire<br>but were washed away with tears <br> and the bitter acids of high ideals <br> like a poem in the rain.<br>I lie, but never out of fear; <br> and when I lie it’s always <br> an attempt to heal, to clean, to dress <br>that gash of a murderous fact <br> or remove the thorn, the claw, the fang<br> the sickle of the crescent moon<br>from a wounded heart<br> that hasn’t tasted life enough to know<br> why the blood is made of iron.<br>I mingle a little shadow in with the light, <br> a little wine with the vinegar<br> when the truth has no eyelids<br>and the bitter cup is full of bleach; I let love<br> sweeten the green apple<br> and err on the side of compassion<br>when the windfall needs a face-lift. <br> I don’t grow gardens <br> in the dirt under my fingernails<br>or drive a golden chariot through a slum, <br> but a few geraniums on the windowsill<br> can’t hurt the view. <br>And what can come of trying to pour <br> the ocean into a tea-cup<br> when all that’s needed <br>is a quick rinse in a bird-bath, <br> or a few drops of holy water <br> through a sieve? Terminal <br>literalism and contagious symbolitis<br> are the snake-oils <br> of fraudulent medicine-men.<br>The truth is a scaffolding <br> to climb up on and paint<br> and I never sing in the same tree twice.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But I steal, from everyone, chronically, <br> dreams, visions, glimpses, insights, <br> the little jewels of wisdom<br>that fall from their signet rings, plunder<br> whole mansions of emotion <br> in a single night, <br>a cat burglar on the fifteenth floor<br> of a tower of moonlight, seeds, <br> feathers, leaves, flowers, <br>names and faces, I’m a thief of fire, <br> a pickpocket and klepto-crow<br> with a passion <br>for the silver things of life, <br> a b. and e. artist with an ear <br> for encrypted vaults <br>where they keep the safety deposit boxes <br> like black holes crammed with stars, <br> a grave-robber looking for afterlives <br>to fence to the living, a professional booster <br> who can walk into any solar system <br> in a t-shirt <br>and amble out with a planet.<br> I once sold Mars in a bar <br> to a drunken movie-star, <br>but I’ve never wanted anything <br> that wasn’t mine, or the wind <br> couldn’t get its hands on, <br>or I wouldn’t receive if I asked, <br> like certain hearts that have accused me<br> of being in possession <br>of stolen property. Even the poems I flog <br> are hot, but like the rain and the sun<br> I lifted them from <br>I give to the rich and poor alike<br> with an empty hand <br> and the budding daffodil <br>of an open mike, stealing the Buddha’s purse<br> to buy the Buddha’s horse. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"> And it’s true, I’ve been violent, <br>cracked a few skulls, deviated <br> more than one septum, but only <br> when attacked or cornered <br>or on behalf of the weak and hapless, <br> gone out to the parking lot<br> and given as good as I got, <br>stood up and got counted <br> then quickly dismounted my rage, <br> turned the page, not <br>my cheek and in a week or two <br> when the swelling’s gone down<br> and the teeth marks on my knuckles<br>haven’t turned into aids, <br> like any cosmic ape or alpha chimp <br> with gargantuan glands <br>tried to play the sage<br> and walk away with a cosmic limp<br> and eons of blood on my hands.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But as I said, I lie, <br> and now that I’ve written this <br> to set the record straight<br>thinking I had good cause<br> to touch up my portrait a bit <br> I confess<br>between the cracks and the flaws<br> and the lines around my eyes<br> I can see another face<br>that isn’t a disguise <br> beneath the layers of paint<br> staring out at me<br>like a demon in the heart of a saint<br> who knows what I am <br> and scoffs at what I ain’t.</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> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <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=476815" data-title="One Day Your Mouth de Patrick White" data-description="One day your mouth just opens like a rose or an eye or an oyster that bloomed in the night when you weren’t looking and whispers things you should have said in the defense of your own innocence and didn’t, things that should h..."></div> </div> </div>

solid border dashed border dotted border double border groove border ridge border inset border outset border no border blue green red purple cyan gold silver black