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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=477017" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>When I Get To The Root Of What I Really Want</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=477017" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">When I get to the root of what I really want<br>it all comes down to the nothing that I've got. <br>If a mirror were to publish me the way I really look, <br>I'd look like a rootless tree, scattering all its leaves <br>and dropping its fruit like tears that got too heavy to bear.<br>I look at a beautiful woman now as if she were art, <br>a Caravaggio in a gallery, as my eyes are <br>just as happy to see, as my hands once were to touch.<br>Noli me tangere. Because I don't love anyone, <br>not even myself. Love is a double-edged sword <br>that can't dance solo, and my longing's been <br>a wandering troubadour for so long now, I can<br>mark the eras of my life by the number of windows <br>I've stood under singing to the waxing moon as it opens up. </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=477017" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">I've always been a foolish dream weaver <br>trying to make a waterbed out of a snakepit for two <br>knowing how long it takes for the flying carpets to wear through.<br>I'm Pictish enough to live with a blue body <br>covered in lunar tattoos, or play the sacred clown <br>so I can use my absurdity as an alibi for the loss of my innocence, <br>and everybody's innocent at the beginning of love, <br>as if the moon were renewing her virginity in you.<br>I've lived with a lioness, two witches, an apostate madonna, <br>a beast mistress, one demon with juno, a couple of butterflies <br>that landed on the tip of the split dragon's tongue <br>divining for water in hell a moment or two <br>before their flightpaths got so erratic I couldn't keep up<br>and not wanting to fly wingman anymore, <br>tilted my wings good-bye, and banked back<br>into the depths and the heights of my reptilian solitude.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=477017" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">If things aren't perfect after you get over the shock of moonrise <br>believe me, the night you stop blaming <br>the flaws in your telescope <br>or the cinders in your own eyes<br>and realize how much dark ore it takes <br>for a nugget of gold to cast it <br>like a mountain of shadows behind it, <br>you'd make a much better astronomer than you are now.<br>You'd be able to relate to the asteroids <br>as easily as you do the radiant rings and shepherd moons<br>with their alluring promise of a mysterious life <br>just under the eyelids of their ice-caps, <br>as you peer through the cracks in their cataracts. </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=477017" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">My heart's been savaged by firestorms of stars <br>sweeping across deserts of volcanic ash and pumice <br>by thousands of delusions arming themselves like mirages <br>to wound the very water they depended for their lives upon <br>because they didn't think there were enough bubbles in the hourglass. <br>You wake up one morning and find the skull of the moon <br>polluting your wishing well, it's time to pack up <br>and take your lute on the road again like uprooted rain. <br>Try for a graceful exit but if it's a little more brutal <br>than your entrance, do the best you can one abyss at a time<br>so that when you're on your death bed reviewing all this, <br>you won't have to wince too hard <br>at all your futile attempts to remain indefensibly human.</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>