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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=476871" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Some Things You Weep Over Forever</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Some things you weep over forever. <br>Fathomless watersheds of infinite sorrow. <br>Others last as long as it takes the rain <br>to get a flower to bloom and perish, <br>with promises of good things to come. <br>Beauty cherishes a lock of wisdom. <br>Separation, departure, exile, severance, change, <br>since the womb, and a good chance earlier, <br>things coming apart like a mother giving birth <br>to the ghost of herself she gave up <br>to facilitate your coming forth upon the earth. <br>Here you are in the splendour of your mystic specificity. <br>And who knows how many lifetimes <br>had to be achieved and forgotten just as they were <br>so you could show up here so uniquely? <br>Point is. Goodbye's always half of the greeting <br>and sorrow uses the same hand to hang on to life <br>as it does to let go of it with.<br>Our entrance is a back-handed exit.<br>We celebrate the seance and mourn the exorcism<br>depending upon which way the wind <br>is blowing our mother's ghost in our face.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Out of sorrow was born compassion <br>as our eyes were born of the light <br>flirting with nerve cells, as the sky and the stars <br>adapted to our ocularity and soft-bodied animals <br>grew shells and thousands of scales like eyelids<br>and the Burgess shale became the communal gravestone <br>for millions, and all the new angels <br>were snow blind lab technicians in white coats<br>and the goddess who embodied life <br>in a ceremony of picture-music <br>became a particle and a Hox gene. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Do you see how it all transmorphs surrealistically <br>as it sings you to sleep in a dream of life <br>that fits the typography of your mindscape perfectly <br>like the skin of moonlight brushing up like a feather <br>against the skin of water, mutually realizing <br>the millions of waterbirds that arise <br>like oceanically enlightened emotions from them both? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I've heard the sea weep. The sky release the tears <br>that others pray for like rain. The earth groan in its agony.<br>I've sat at the bedside of dying friends <br>and said nothing the numbing silence <br>wanted to overhear whether it was wisdom or a prayer. <br>Here. Then it's There. Now it's Where? <br>We die into a mirror we can't look into.<br>Or maybe when the light disappears <br>from our eyes here, it's because <br>we took it with us like a star to see <br>into the abysmal darkness ahead of us <br>as we bring the future with us <br>like a perpetual myth of origin <br>that begins like a snake with its tail in its mouth <br>inconceivably where it ends.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">One dropp of blood from the rose's eye<br>doesn't violate the wonder of the child<br>that's trying to live on in you, nor death <br>keep the iron bells of the elegy from ripening <br>like apple bloom born of grief <br>sweetening the clouds of their unknowing<br>even as the wind persists in blowing <br>what was once attached to us <br>like feathers to a bird away<br>as we make constellations of its evanescence<br>as if indelibility could slow down the rate of change<br>like the rear guard action of a retreating army. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Born to separate into more elaborate unions, <br>child of the elan vitale within you, Polaris <br>of all the indirections it took to find you, <br>the epiphanous life force that wears your body and mind <br>like the lifemask of a creative imagination<br>that has a flare for painting the world with its eyes, <br>but in all its works can't find a similitude for itself <br>that suits it for the moment any better than you.<br>It's a mistake to think that you're the only one <br>that's wearing your face, or a lack of identity <br>is your most cherished possession, or your sorrows <br>aren't shared by the rubble of a thousand shattered pietas.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Celebrate death like a lunar fire dance at the entrance<br>to the creatrix of all exits. Truth can't improve <br>the lack of things to a heart that's only tasted <br>solitude and sorrow and clear cuts the crutches <br>on the mountain sides of all its legless tomorrows <br>hoping they might abide for awhile as trustworthy cornerstones. <br>Sorrow can be an emotional road <br>suffering from its own erosion. Tears <br>that were clarified by the flowing of their radiance <br>can turn into a festering stasis of ditchwater <br>if they're left to stand too long among<br>the purple loosestrife and lost and lonely hubcaps, <br>deathmasks of the rogue planets that got left behind <br>when everyone went on without them<br>riding a four-wheel drive eclipse with three full moons to go. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Vehicular witchcraft. Or divine intervention. <br>Or the probable concourse of both, <br>the mind will nacreously secrete either <br>a black or white dawn of insight around it <br>to bury a thorn in a pearl of compassion<br>as things you couldn't imagine the day before <br>flower out of a black hole like a blind rose, <br>and people fall away helplessly without life boats <br>like the rafters of an abandoned temple <br>better left to the birds than the prayers of the unfaithful<br>victimizing the martyrs of outrageous morphologies. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">If sorrow ripens into compassion, the moon <br>enlightens the seed forms that orbit the core <br>of the green star of the apple and it's chilled <br>by the stars of the night that turn <br>its taste buds into nanodiamonds<br>that can discern the flavour of the Pleiades <br>burning like a spice on the Silk Road. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">If sorrow isn't always a closed gate without a fence <br>trying to enclose a garden in an urn of ashes<br>it's neglected like a cosmic egg for light years<br>trying to get over the disappointment <br>of finding the holy grail only to notice it was chipped. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">If experience isn't mentored by sorrow <br>deeper into the source of joy in life <br>that's the voice coach of the exuberant birds<br>that are nine parts aubade and one part threnody, <br>and there's frost on the windfall that isn't stardust. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Set sorrow loose with an apple branch <br>to witch for wells on the moon<br>that have closed their eyes to spring in Aquarius. <br>By an overt act of sustained imagination <br>let sorrow root in you <br>like a wild grape vine <br>in the encyclopedic duff <br>of your last autumn on earth <br>then cry in your cups <br>as your tears turn into wine<br>remembering all the blossoms of the moon <br>that had to fall so you could taste <br>the moment of this sweetness <br>as if your own bloodstream, <br>its shadows and shining alike, <br>were a Gulf Stream of stars <br>that loved being swept away <br>by their own momentum<br>whether they're photonically discharged <br>from a halfway house of decaying orbitals <br>like tree rings, birth marks, ripples and moon dogs<br>or moved by the dark energy <br>of their shape-shifting sorrows, <br>the ripening wavelengths<br>running up and down <br>the xylem and the phloem, <br>the ida and the pina, <br>the solar and the lunar threads<br>of their spinal cords like serpent fire <br>to reconfigure the world<br>through the third eyes <br>of their enlightened tears.</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=476871" data-title="Some Things You Weep Over Forever de Patrick White" data-description="Some things you weep over forever. 
Fathomless watersheds of infinite sorrow. 
Others last as long as it takes the rain 
to get a flower to bloom and perish, 
with promises of good things to come. 
Beauty cherishes a lock of wisdom. 
Separation, d..."></div>
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