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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=477012" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>What I Wanted To Show You</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">What I wanted to show you, <br>	you will not see. <br>		What I wanted to give you, <br>you will not receive. <br>	The wind may mourn your passing <br>		like an abandoned dog <br>and the leaves of the silver Russian olive <br>	may be baffled into silver <br>		by the way you left the gate open <br>to a bigger, colder, darker world than it was <br>	before you told me you loved me <br>		like an arsonist in a wheat field, <br>a comet above the willow tree <br>	that wept its way into autumn. <br>		Go. I lay no claims or obligations <br>at your feet anymore than I would <br>	try to smudge space <br>		with the black rose of the night <br>that tastes of old eclipses in my blood. <br>	You say ebulliently <br>		you want to know passionately <br>the depths of love, <br>	but like the fools before you<br>		who blundered into the fire, <br>you're only witching for volcanoes <br>with the tongue of a snake.<br>	As well look for fishroads <br>under the dead seas of the moon <br>	as follow the path you're on. <br>		And your beauty is no excuse, <br>your body no sanctuary, <br>	your blackberry heart<br> no pilgrim to anywhere<br>you can't stand in the light <br>	trying on shadows like lingerie<br>		in the mirror of the delusions <br>you've clarified like the skin of a bubble <br>	that has smeared the reflection of the world so long <br>		you think you're a planet with trees. <br>You're a spiritual junkie<br>	jonesing for suffusions of the inconceivable <br>		to animate the dust and galaxies <br>you have no life or love to breathe into<br>	other than that little wind <br>		you carry around in a bottle <br>in case you're ever stranded <br>	without an emergency exit<br>		from all the lies you tell in paradise. <br>You suffer the mythically inflated gigantism <br>	of your own unbearable insignificance, <br>		and abase yourself prophetically <br>before the mountain of your own lostness, <br>	hoping for a map <br>		of your wandering in stone <br>that would authorize your confusion <br>	as holier than the rest. <br>		Lonely for converts, <br>you tell me I'm sure of heaven. <br>	Just as lonely I reply <br>		if someone like me <br>were to show up in heaven, <br>	it couldn't be much of place to aspire to <br>		and how could the blessed <br>not feel cheated? <br>	But you don't get it; <br>		you really don't understand <br>that life isn't an audition of angels<br>	and the black cartoon <br>		you've made of yourself <br>to win a feather <br>	isn't a prelude <br>		to the main feature<br>when the lights go out<br>	and the ushers <br>		who conducted the dead to their seats<br>evaporate in the aisles <br>	and you upstage the movie <br>		with your nakedness <br>as if God couldn't see <br>the snake-flute of your body<br>dancing with serpents in the dark.<br>Lust alone would have been enough <br>	to keep us together<br>		but waking from your dream<br>of forbidden undertows, <br>	washed ashore again <br>		on your oracular island, <br>you kept trying to weld the right light <br>	to the wrong shadow, <br>		and eventually <br>even the most exotic futility grows boring.<br>	You dipped the stone-flaked arrowhead <br>		of your aboriginal heart<br>in the toxic fires of your own undoing<br>	and pointing it at mine<br>		tried to deceive yourself into a direction.<br>And now you want, <br>	now you long, <br>		now you want to come back <br>and immerse yourself in the life <br>	you once stepped over <br>		like a drunk asleep on the sidewalk. <br>You've suffered and grown, <br>	you've wept and derived humility <br>		from irreparable loss; <br>you've trembled before <br>	the first, terrible intimations of the vastness<br>		of the sky in your heart <br>like the virgin flight of a lost bird, <br>	and you want to be given another chance, <br>		to surrender yourself at the gate <br>you once walked through backwards <br>	so enamored were you of your shadow.<br>		And you promise the river your tears, <br>the moon your scars, me <br>	the rarest of your orchids in the night. <br>		But when I ask you <br>what the drunk was dreaming <br>	you still look blankly around the room <br>		as if everything in existence <br>were merely the baffled clue to your beauty<br>	and the answer<br>		something black and revealing that clings. <br>You still can't imagine <br>	how easy it is <br>		to say no to you.</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=477012" data-title="What I Wanted To Show You de Patrick White" data-description="What I wanted to show you, 
	you will not see. 
		What I wanted to give you, 
you will not receive. 
	The wind may mourn your passing 
		like an abandoned dog 
and the leaves of the silver Russian olive 
	may be baffled into silver 
		by the way y..."></div>
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