(no subject)

Mar 01, 2006 04:06

Climbed the tangled funeral pile of pain,
so sure nowhere to buy a future gain
for this heart, in which has grown silent the supply.
Is it still I who burns unrecognizably?
Memories I do not seize inside.
O life, life: being-outside.
And I in flame. No one who knows me.

Renunciation. That is not what illness
once was in childhood. Procrastination. Pretense for
growing bigger. Everything whispered and called.
Do not mix into this what early enthralled.

-Rilke
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