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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=476875" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Someone's Cut The Tongues Out Of The Bells Tonight</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=476875" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Someone's cut the tongues out of the bells tonight. <br>Even the silence isn't singing to itself. <br>The windows are generously tolerant of intruders <br>but I'm locked into the splendour of my isolation<br>empathizing with things I don't love.<br>Full moon. Fruit moon. Moon of berries and grain.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=476875" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">I thought I'd be happier at this time in my life, <br>but I'm threshing a harvest of shadows <br>for having sowed all my wild oats on the moon. <br>I'm intrigued by the fragrance of occult raptures on the air. <br>Dark intensities that can only end in immolation. <br>Black roses that only bloom in fire. Mystic disobedience <br>that lifts the flesh and blood taboos off <br>whatever comes to it naturally <br>as a late night 24-7 convenience store <br>or the fire that started in the kitchen of the Chinese restaurant <br>three doors down from my apartment yesterday.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=476875" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Late night moods. The mind dogpaddling in its immensities. <br>Heritage town standing down from its fieldstones.<br>No drunks on the street, and all those angry voices <br>I didn't recognize, gone home to sleep off their disappointment. <br>I sit like an air traffic comptroller mindwatching <br>behind these panes of glass as Arcturus goes down<br>over the tar paper rooftops I poetically associate <br>with clouds, stars, seagulls and hand-held mirrors of rain <br>after a thunderstorm has shattered its reflection in them<br>like a love affair that wasn't going anywhere.<br> <br>Doing time on earth, but of little consequence. <br>The bank across the street makes me feel depreciated.<br>Ask me this moment what legacy I've left <br>for the half century I've laboured creatively here <br>and I'd probably answer indignantly, a garage sale, <br>then reassure you by saying, for a good cause, <br>and mostly mean it, and partially wish I didn't.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Patrick+White">Patrick White</a></strong></div>