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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=476877" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Something Deeper Than Stars</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Something deeper than tears to weep for you.<br>I weep blood. I weep the silence <br>on the backstairs with the screen door<br>that bangs like the sound of one hand clapping<br>all through the night at the slightest gust of wind<br>as if a constellation were trying <br>to strike up a insightful conversation <br>with a wet match, the sceptre of a spent blossom.<br>I need a moon deeper than water to drown in.<br>I need to dance the pain away <br>in a sword dance of serpents <br>that know how to carry a tune <br>like a well fledged arrow, a beautiful toxin, <br>straight to the heart of the mysterious apple <br>that's sitting on top of my head like a prophetic skull.<br>No flower can say. Not any number of song sparrows <br>returning to the budding tree in spring, <br>no green leaf of an innocent tongue, <br>not even this dry leaf of mine in autumn<br>writing lyrics on the wind no one can read, <br>not even among ghosts, can find a voice <br>that isn't already the dead language<br>of an absence that can't be adorned <br>by a seance of words.<br>I light no candles. I summon no gods. <br>No pretence of knowing where you've gone.<br>No black hole that's as empty as <br>your ring on the table, no halo <br>that ever fell as far from heaven.<br>Good-bye's too optimistic and farewell's <br>the rudder of a grave on the rocks. <br>And if I were to raise the paper sail<br>of another poem like the waxing phase <br>of the funereal moonboat <br>that carried you away, <br>I'd make it black. I'd raise it<br>like the shroud of a black magician <br>that can make things disappear, <br>like an eclipse at half mast<br>and patch it with the skull and crossbones <br>of a different phase of the moon on the dark side. <br>I wouldn't return your personal belongings <br>back to the morning like starlings and doves. <br>But there aren't enough sacred syllables <br>swimming like moonlit fish <br>in the watershed of the silence<br>to open this fountainmouth of grief<br>like an aviary of flightless birds.<br>Nor would I risk having you remember me, <br>and turn around like a false start, <br>supposing you can still recall anything at all, <br>like a light you left on in the hall<br>the night you left home for good. <br>You were magic while you were here to work it. <br>You were the black nun of an enlightened cult of one. <br>You were the black mass of the sun at midnight<br>and the blood sister of the moon <br>that nicked your finger <br>on both her crescent thorns at once <br>so one was the cure to the other's wound<br>like the eyes of a cat, the fangs of a snake.<br>Given how close to the moon you were <br>it didn't come as a surprise <br>when you started writing me loveletters <br>inscribed in bone as if you'd just invented <br>a whole new language out of your claws <br>to make love to a poet in the nude when the moon <br>didn't lay its silver sword down between us <br>to keep us a threshold apart from our fingertips. <br>And it wasn't long before the elixir began to work <br>and I lost count of the number <br>of consensual metaphors I had for your lips, <br>similitudes for the night skies <br>that surrounded your eyes in a delirium of stars<br>that revelled in the crazy wisdom <br>of their mystically inspired atmospheres.<br>As just as beautiful as they were, <br>so were they irresistibly dangerous. <br>How many light years now <br>have I poured this memory of them <br>like a love potion over my roots <br>and waited for you to bloom in my bloodstream <br>like stars and blossoms streaming <br>through the heartwood of an ageing tree <br>that has as many dead branches on it as it does leaves, <br>and like an orchard anticipating moonrise, <br>knew you weren't coming anymore, <br>and the night bird had no one to sing for? <br>But, hey, I'm still a better seance <br>than I am an exorcism and if you can hear me <br>calling the faithful to prayer <br>in all directions at once like a paper airplane <br>the boy in me has sent out to search for you <br>like a loveletter in a hurricane of razor wire, <br>dripping with clusters of blood <br>the size of hemorrhaging grapes, <br>fireflies caught in a spider-web <br>of starless constellations that aren't a sign <br>of anything except I miss you worst at night. <br>If you could sense the tremor <br>in even the slightest wavelength of light <br>I'm trying to shine on the darkness to find you, <br>I'd write you a holy book of sacred silence <br>inspired by the shadows in my blood <br>that overtake me like strangers from behind <br>with an urgent message not to return home <br>to what isn't there anymore.<br>I'd sit out here all night by myself<br>beside the black waters of this night creek<br>unravelling like a ribbon in mourning, <br>that's been talking to itself <br>as it walks in its sleep on the water, <br>and I would beseech the stars with my eyes<br>to let me know if they've seen you, <br>and in my heart I would entreat them <br>with the solo of a wounded wolf<br>raising its head up in a wild prayer <br>to catch a trace of you on the chilly night air, <br>to give me a starmap to when and where<br>I can see you face to face again<br>and touch your eyelids in your sleep <br>like crocuses coming up through the snow. <br>Like moonrise in the apple blow of the storm<br>that scattered us to winds like all these poems <br>I've tried to write for you ever since<br>as if you were still somewhere nearby<br>like another pair of eyes<br>in my pain and my solitude <br>watching from the woods<br>the stars, the water, the moon, <br>under the stones in the river <br>that mark your grave and name<br>above the flowing of this endless epitaph <br>of leaves and blossoms and poems <br>as if you alone could still read them, <br>like the comings and goings, <br>of waterbirds on the moon, <br>the first draft of words on the wind, <br>maple leaves and keys on the mindstream, <br>and still understand what I was trying to mean.</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=476877" data-title="Something Deeper Than Stars de Patrick White" data-description="Something deeper than tears to weep for you.
I weep blood. I weep the silence 
on the backstairs with the screen door
that bangs like the sound of one hand clapping
all through the night at the slightest gust of wind
as if a constellation were try..."></div>
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