The Earth A Message
The earth a message in a blue bottle
someone threw into a desert of stars
for help,
I'm stranded on the island
of a single thought
in the galactic archipelagos
of a deconstructed myth of origin.
There is no myth.
There is no origin.
I am free to write what I want
in invisible ink
on virgin mirrors
in an indecipherable alphabet of stars
because every mouth
was first a bird of the void,
the echo of a scar
that wrote with a knife
how testing it was
to cut the throats of the yearling bells
that were slaughtered like apples.
This, too, is an eyelid of life,
a shedding of the peony,
the blue silk sheet of an atmosphere
pulled off a naked planet
that will die of exposure
in a blizzard of necrophiliac flashbulbs.
No one really wants
to be understood,
but for years I've laboured
in the shadows of profound delusions
to look upon every face
blossoming in the unkempt orchard
as the hidden eye
of a human divinity I was trying to uphold
like a pillar of cloud.
I wanted parity with angels,
I believed just to be born
was to be exalted to the ranks
of an heroic order
that had evolved out of
the embodiment of suffering,
the pain that was cast away
like the illegitimate afterbirth
of a silo full of thorns,
the swamp
that tendered a waterlily nevertheless
and a sky that wore its stars like campaigns,
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poem by Patrick White
Added by Poetry Lover
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