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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=477066" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>You, My House Of Burning Thresholds</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">You, my house of burning thresholds, come<br>to me written on the breath of urgent windows, <br>and the palms of the walls that want their fortunes read, come<br>with palettes and kittens and your blue notebook of poems <br>that grows through ages of skin and mushroom kisses<br>on the forest floors of your flesh, the bracken spume<br>of the fountain that pebbles its tears in the light, <br>and the thoughtful rocks with moss-covered shoulders.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Come like a spoon that sips from the heart<br>and your blood a riot of sea roses, pink and green, <br>and the black ashes of the eyes of your secrets<br>and the locks on the loveletters you wrote on the wind<br>and I will bury my boat in the waves of your mind, <br>and be your ghost forever, and live as if I were blind.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">There are poppies in your paintbrushes, cherries, wine, <br>earlobes of blue, and the tongues of mute tattoos<br>that have pierced your body with sad revelations <br>of the lives that you leave behind, all the simple journeys<br>that unravel the keys of the mystery in the dark inks <br>of another face, another crime, dead trains in the tunnels<br>caught like words in the throat of a mountain<br>that forgot what it meant to say, the long, mourning sentences<br>that carry you away from life to life in the arms of today, <br>and the bells and the lanterns that swing like fruit <br>in the lonely midnight stations flowering under their names.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Bring me your love, your art, your wounded past, <br>your wardrobe of rainbows and scars, and the chaste rings<br>that chain your body like a planet with mutable orbits<br>to the vast freedoms of stars in the rain, all the comets<br>you could never explain to the skies you riddled from blue, <br>and all the men you’ve married under the fallen bridges <br>of final farewells. Come in the hour of thieves, in darkness <br>with your windows open, and the ladders we’ll never climb down, <br>from our islands in the clouds that call like whales across the moon.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And there are laments we can only say in echoes, in valleys, <br>in the loose threads of the stream, huge shadowing sorrows<br>that walk like clocks through our dreams, looking again <br>for faces in the window that passed their orchards in pain; <br>looking for tomorrows in the way they came in the night<br>to a doorway at the top of the stairs, that once was theirs. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">There are reasons in the blood that we loose like gloves<br>and seasons and departures, exits and arrivals<br>that brave the coming and the going with maps and graves<br>that lead us each like bees to the heart’s destinations.<br>Let love guide you through the labyrinths and maze <br>and putting on wings feathered from the fires of sad silvers<br>that fall away like water and stars from the herons of our rising, <br>fly from the old reflections of the mirrors at your feet<br>out of your face of lilies and fish into a deeper darkness<br>that waits like a man on a bus with a vase, beside an empty seat.</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=477066" data-title="You, My House Of Burning Thresholds de Patrick White" data-description="You, my house of burning thresholds, come to me written on the breath of urgent windows, and the palms of the walls that want their fortunes read, come with palettes and kittens and your blue notebook of poems that grows through ages of skin and..."></div> </div> </div>
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