I love the dark hours of my being,
My mind deepens into them.
There I can find, as in old letters,
the days of my life, already lived,
and held like a legend, and understood.
Then the knowing comes: I can open
to another life that's wide and timeless.
So I am sometimes like a tree
rustling over a gravesite
and making real the dream
of the one its living roots
embrace:
a dream once lost
among sorrows and songs.
by Rainer Maria Rilke
for poetry wednesday
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| © Manuela Thames Photography 2012 |
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| © Manuela Thames Photography 2012 |
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| © Manuela Thames Photography 2012 |
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| © Manuela Thames Photography 2012 |
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| © Manuela Thames Photography 2012 |
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| © Manuela Thames Photography 2012 |
inspired by some art I saw in a coffee shop and by this poem, which is definitely one of my favorites from Rilke's "Book of Hours."
