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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=476979" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Three Flames, My Goldfish Dancing Like Stars</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Three flames, my goldfish dancing like stars<br>in a telescopic lens with a narrow field of view.<br>Eerie slate blue in the blank windows <br>across the street, as if they once had eyes. <br>Blind prophets in the dawn. What do they see? <br>One poet on nightwatch sitting in an apartment <br>by himself with the lights out, listening <br>to what the silence has to say about everything, <br>nothing, the way the sky is beginning <br>to keep its stars to itself as if <br>the great liberties of shining <br>they took with the night are practising <br>the greater discretion of candle wicks <br>that someone lights up and someone blows out<br>and they end up bending back on themselves <br>like solar flares, or ingrown hairs, <br>or tiny black monks concealed under the cowls <br>of this holy hour like shadows of noon in the sun. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">All the deep, soul-searching questions <br>make peace with all the elusive answers <br>they've been searching for like a battered bird<br>the eye of a storm. And the lies of life prove <br>vastly less intriguing than its truths. <br>Every firefly of insight, a dragon breathing <br>in the distance, exhaling chimney sparks <br>like a furnace in a dream talking in its sleep. <br>Plumes of smoke dissipating in the air <br>from the fumaroles of gentle exorcisms, <br>ghosts trying to get back to their graves <br>before the day starts to take itself too seriously. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The numinous aftertaste of all the afterlives <br>I wanted to live in my mouth, one's as good <br>as another, and I'm beginning to exalt <br>a little in living this one as a creative endeavour <br>that's been trying to achieve me all along, <br>not the other way around. At least <br>it amuses me to think so though I'm not expecting <br>a masterpiece. The same eye by which <br>I see the star is the eye by which the star sees me. <br>Interdependent origination. Cosmic intimacy. <br>All these broken mirrors that have given birth to my face. <br>All these Cepheid variables drumming on the hide<br>they tanned from my heart like the pulse <br>of an enraptured ghost dance around a blazing fire.<br>Listen to one solitary night bird and you can hear <br>the whole choir singing backup to the human condition. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Compassion is the sweetest sadness when the stars <br>bend down to kiss the burn like a sunspot <br>soothing its feet in the lunar shadows of the mindstream<br>on a long firewalk across the cool sands of a new moonrise <br>over the Sea of Tranquillity. Why walk <br>when you can row your way across or fly <br>like a waterbird through the skies of a million eyes at once? <br>Mark one jewel and they're all marked for life. <br>Whisper to the willows in starlight <br>and you can hear the booming of the abysmal echo <br>on the far side of the universe like life in a small town. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">When life isn't copulating in the brothels <br>of a false dawn, it's the prelude of a longing <br>to impart your heart to someone like a secret <br>you couldn't reveal to anyone else like a humming bird <br>that's caught the ear of the holly hocks. <br>You enter the dream without knowing <br>what you're going to wake up to. <br>The empty silo keeps the hunger alive. <br>It's the full harvest that blows the candle out <br>beside your death bed. Fulfilments of failure. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">No one's a sailor until they've drowned<br>running aground on the lunar reefs<br>of an enchanted island you washed up on <br>like a lost cause doomed to be found in the morning <br>like the guiding light of a dead starfish<br>still shining out of habit in a dawn that pales <br>by comparison when a sorceress sets her easel <br>up on the beach and begins to sketch <br>a starmap of you that's an exact likeness <br>of the vision you had of her just before you died.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">There's always another side to a black hole. <br>Turn the emptiness of the hourglass over <br>like a drink you've finished crossing the bar<br>and it's a different world with different stars.</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=476979" data-title="Three Flames, My Goldfish Dancing Like Stars de Patrick White" data-description="Three flames, my goldfish dancing like stars
in a telescopic lens with a narrow field of view.
Eerie slate blue in the blank windows 
across the street, as if they once had eyes. 
Blind prophets in the dawn. What do they see? 
One poet on nightwat..."></div>
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