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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=477019" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>When I'm Alone</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">When I'm alone <br>	I want to be with someone, <br>and when I am with someone, <br>I'm twice as alone. <br>	My unhappiness <br>		is a snake-pit <br>I dangle my heart over <br>	like a mouse by the tail<br>		and when joy does show up, <br>a butterfly with resplendent wings, <br>	it slowly adapts its palette <br>		to the slag and soot and oilslicks <br>of the black orchard <br>	shedding its petals everywhere <br>		like micro-eclipses in hell.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And all the poems <br>	I gathered like asters <br>		from the autumn starfields, <br>all these skies that opened above me <br>	as I walked down a long road alone <br>		in darkness and light, <br>obedient to the wind and the shadows <br>	that whispered move on, move on <br>		beyond the journey and the arrival, <br>are merely a leaf, <br>	a tattoo on the back <br>		of a serpent of water<br>sliding downstream <br>like rain like mind in search of a course<br>	that isn't the cracked map <br>of last year's desiccated creek bed. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">	My body is scarred, my heart <br>		a voodoo doll <br>pierced by a thousand fangs <br>	as it burns like a bee <br>		in a rose of heretical fire<br>for refusing to turn my honey into venom<br>	or conform to any magic but its own.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">		And there is no heaven <br>to appeal to as a last resort. <br>	I endure what I endure <br>		for the dignity <br>of my indefensible humanity, <br>	knowing the pain <br>		that sometimes turns my nerves <br>into stand-ins for the lightning <br>	that keeps crackling my cosmic egg<br>		like the paint of my last masterpiece, <br>also schools my blood like the wine <br>	I pour out joyously <br>		into the empty goblet of the mystery <br>whenever I host the moon.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">	Life is neither fair nor unfair <br>		and the seeing, a vision, a poem<br>is always a bird <br>	born and breaking free of your eyes<br>		opening like a threshold <br>like a flower <br>	like a crack of lightning, <br>		like the world that hangs, <br>a veil of water, <br>	from the ends of your eyelashes now.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">		Love is great, love is much, maybe all, <br>and the being here incomparable, <br>	and the mystery always<br>		whispering in a field beyond its own compass, <br>and the wind that tastes of birds, <br>	and the light that tastes of flowers, <br>		and the fountains of darkness <br>where God washes the stars off her face, <br>	will always urge the extinguished branch <br>		of an astonished pen <br>to blossom into a poet.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">	Are the dead any less creative <br>		than the living? <br>If they don't come from anywhere	<br>	how can you ask where they go? <br>		If everything is the unborn energy <br>of a dancing god <br>	with worlds in her blood<br>		how can even a blade of grass perish? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">This world, this life, <br>	this ungraspable now of awareness <br>		is the passion of a goddess, not a passing thought.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Beyond this riot of blessing and anathema, <br>	this racket of loss and acquisition, <br>		of birth and murder, <br>there is a silence <br>	deeper than the space <br>		between breaths, <br>an abyss without longing<br>	that knows you from within <br>		as the fire knows the flame, <br>or a woman, <br>the haste of her lover.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">	If you think you know something, <br>cast the thought down <br>	as you would a venomous serpent <br>		or let it strike; <br>even the poisons <br>	can unspool you like wine<br>		in this delirium of life.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And isn't it more than could have been asked for <br>	just to be here <br>		under a sky <br>spun finer than the silk of diamonds, <br>	breathing the stars in and out <br>		like trees? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I have been silently and eloquently <br>	stupefied by the wonder <br>		all my life; <br>and urgently moved to explore <br>	the great ocean of awareness<br>		that intrigued me to experience myself<br>as the world, <br>I put to sea with a leaf for a sail.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">	We must become <br>more intimate with our vastness, learn<br>	to listen to the whisper<br>		that has always been us <br>in our own depths.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">	We have depleted our preludes of awe, <br>		the spirit slags in the pit mines <br>of our complacent arrogance.<br>	Our own creations <br>		amaze and lull us away <br>from the sustaining abundance <br>	of what was given spontaneously. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">		What do we know? <br>Why water? <br>	Why stars? <br>		Who is it that asks the question? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The fluid continuum of the mystery <br>	is a waterclock <br>		and every receptacle, an era. <br>And science can advance the shadows of life, <br>	but the answers eventually fall like leaves <br>		and no one knows how to account<br>for the stars that root in the duff.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">	What each of us sees <br>		when we see deeper than blood <br>over the course of a lifetime <br>	are the eyes of the goddess <br>		when she looks at us.<br>What we are is our own creation, <br>	curse and blessing alike. <br>		You created heaven. <br>You created hell. <br>	Experience is just the metal <br>		shaped on the anvil of our hearts <br>into edges that kill like life, <br>	the plough drawn from the stone, <br>		not the sword, <br>or blades behind the door <br>	that wound like serpents. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">		You can enlighten or eclipse <br>the iron in the ore <br>	by pouring it <br>		into a heart or a bullet. <br>You can make a nail <br>	and build a house <br>		or crucify a teacher.</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=477019" data-title="When I'm Alone de Patrick White" data-description="When I'm alone 
	I want to be with someone, 
and when I am with someone, 
I'm twice as alone. 
	My unhappiness 
		is a snake-pit 
I dangle my heart over 
	like a mouse by the tail
		and when joy does show up, 
a butterfly with resplendent wings, 
..."></div>
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