Poetry Friday


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
​​​​​​​a dream once lost
​​​​​​​among sorrows and songs.
​​​​​​​Ranier Maria Rilke