“I love the dark hours of my being” by Rilke
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.
I'm not much of a poetry reader, but I rather liked this.
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