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By Rainer Maria Rilke Submitted by Mark McNabb Date: 2002 Jan 27 Comment on this Work [[2002.01.27.22.16.10198]] |
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What angel, if I called out, would hear me? And even if one of them impulsively embraced me, I'd be crushed by it's strength. For beauty Is just the beginning of a terror we can barely stand. We admire it because it commonly refuses to crush us. Every angel terrifies, And so I control myself, Choking back the dark impulse to cry. But who then, can help us? Not angels, not men And the animals instinctively have already noticed That we aren't really at home In our talked about world. So we're left with, say, some tree on a hillside, One that we see every day. We're left with yesterday's stroll In the pampered loyalty of an old habit That liked us so much, it decided to stay and never left. In the night, The night, when the wild mouth of the wind Gnaws at our faces, But who wouldn't she stay for? That sought after, sole deceiving night Who wearily awaits the lonely stranger. You think the nighttime is easy on lovers? All they do is use each other To hide their fates from themselves. When are you going to learn? Take the emptiness you hold in your arms And scatter it into the open spaces we breathe. Maybe the birds will feel how the air is thinner, And fly with more affection. |