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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=477000" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Walking Straight Through The Cobwebs</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Walking straight through the cobwebs of old emotions, <br>trying to get these straitjackets off me, these <br>brown starclusters that stick but never seem to shine. <br>Don't care if I'm in or out of my mind, enough's enough<br>and comes a time to take a bath in your own grave <br>to wash all these ghosts off like the smoke of old fires<br>that returned to their urns like shepherd moons a long time ago.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And I still can't tell if that's a rose petal or an eyelid of blood <br>under the fingernail of the crescent moon <br>when she scratched the eyes out of her prophetic skull.<br>Tired of asking for clarity and being answered in labyrinths. <br>The more I see the more alone I feel. I've been <br>disciplined by catastrophe long enough to know <br>how to build bridges of fire across the mindstream <br>without extinguishing my reflection like a torch <br>in my own awareness. Suspension bridges <br>woven of spinal cords like the suicide nets <br>around the Peace Tower. Dream catchers, yes, <br>but who can stop the nightmares from falling to their deaths? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The scars grow old as the tongue leather of leeches.<br>Time for them to dropp off like deathmasks on a pilgrimage <br>that just couldn't keep up with the unholy pace of my blood. <br>Tired of waltzing with bear traps in a plastic marijuana patch. <br>Weary of arranging flowers so they're not embarassed by the stars <br>that are wearing the same thing this year, <br>as they always do in the fall, when it's not their wardrobe, <br>but our eyes that are renewed by their shining.<br>Not a crusade in advance of hope, not the retreat <br>of apostate despair, nor yet a sideways move <br>to get out of the way of anything I labour<br>under the delusion for convenience <br>I was meant to experience without being consulted. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">It isn't the stump that has to fear the lightning.<br>Asleep or awake, it's all the same vision to a sorcerer<br>casting spells on the moon like oxymoronic dream grammars<br>that don't come with parachutes or safety nets <br>to catch the flying fish when they swan dive back into the abyss. <br>What's a thought? What's an emotion? <br>Why do the butterflies sting worse than killer bees? <br>Why do the scalpels of thought only dance with amputees?</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=477000" data-title="Walking Straight Through The Cobwebs de Patrick White" data-description="Walking straight through the cobwebs of old emotions, 
trying to get these straitjackets off me, these 
brown starclusters that stick but never seem to shine. 
Don't care if I'm in or out of my mind, enough's enough
and comes a time to take a bath..."></div>
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