Click in the field, then press CTRL+C to copy the HTML code
<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=476896" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Angel In The Way I'm Wrestling With</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">The angel in the way I'm wrestling with<br>won't box. I don't get a choice of weapons. <br>My hip dislocated by a greater intensity than I am, <br>I'll walk away the stronger man, <br>a sacred king with a limp, Richard the Second, <br>or Vulcan, or Byron swimming the Hellespont. <br>Down on a sunny day, snarly in the sunshine, <br>too disheartened to get with the picture and bloom. <br>Nothing against the vases of sappy daffodils <br>in green vases on open windowsills, <br>but I feel like tracking starmud into the living room. <br>Heavy green diamond steel-toed work boots <br>with their laces undone, their tongues hanging out, <br>clotted with earth, so the nuns of the narcissi <br>don't forget they've got dark, dirty roots <br>and bulbs like prophetic skulls <br>that have been buried in the garden a long time<br>who predicted all this would happen in due course. <br>Everyone clear-eyed as a haiku in a mirror. <br>Wholly out of season, my heart feels<br>like the heavy bell of a requiem for all those <br>who worked themselves to death for so long <br>like sweating horses hauling this death cart <br>of a planet around to change its point of view <br>like the bent axle of a prayer wheel <br>inclined toward the sun. On this blue-eyed day <br>and in the morning before dawn, euphoric commotion <br>of birdsong in celebration of the return of the light, <br>but I think of how much darkness, the cast off ore, <br>extinct forests, Jurassic coalbins, <br>had to clarify themselves <br>for the sake of a single diamond of equinoctial insight.<br>The apple trees are wearing their appearances <br>on their sleeves, and the willows <br>are adding blonde streaks to their hair<br>after their long widowhood of veils. <br>God I wish I didn't have to be a poet sometimes <br>warped into revealing things from the inside out<br>like a canary in a coalmine on a sunny day.<br>I try to imagine how sweet it would feel <br>just to be in the world like a lackadaisical dandelion <br>blooming like an average G type sun<br>in the fresh painterly green of the grass<br>with a couple of ants for planets. <br>What a miner I'd make. Always <br>looking for a motherlode of ore in a gold mine.<br>Reading between the lines of the spring constellations<br>to admire the brilliance of the darker messenger, <br>the deeper clarity of a more pellucid view of the world<br>as it appears on the nightshift<br>in the black mirrors of the blind chandeliers<br>I've been romancing at a dance of celestial spheres<br>by tracking my footprints all over the ballroom floor<br>for those who dance iambically with a limp like me to follow. <br>And my only alibi for looking at things on the dark side. <br>You can't plumb the depths, or judge the age<br>of a black hole in light years. And it's totally lost upon me<br>how you can truly claim to see anything, even spring<br>if you're not a two-eyed telescope, one eye on day, <br>one eye on the darkness, and both open simultaneously<br>like the sun and the moon at opposite ends of the sky, <br>and the earth in between like the third eye <br>of a spiritual refugee with an extra lens for backup<br>in case I should feel as I do today <br>like a star-nosed mole with tunnel vision <br>trying to shine above ground with the tulips. <br>Even as observatories all over the northern hemisphere <br>are opening their eyes to the light<br>just to let a little fresh air in<br>like house plants on open tenement windowsills <br>sinking their roots deeper into the darkness, <br>like back lightning into a mystic watershed <br>to keep from going blind <br>in the blazing of the blossom overhead.</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=476896" data-title="The Angel In The Way I'm Wrestling With de Patrick White" data-description="The angel in the way I'm wrestling with
won't box. I don't get a choice of weapons. 
My hip dislocated by a greater intensity than I am, 
I'll walk away the stronger man, 
a sacred king with a limp, Richard the Second, 
or Vulcan, or Byron swimmin..."></div>
</div>
</div>