Sunday

Rilke



Whom will you cry to, heart?  More and more lonely,
your path struggles on through incomprehensible
mankind.  All the more futile perhaps
for keeping its own direction
keeping on toward the future,
toward what has been lost.

                                                                -Rilke


After reading this last night I feel much much
less foolish for my last post.  Science, politicans,
groups of all sorts may torment my heart.  Poets,
though, ease this torment regardless of their time
or place.  This deep heart's song comes easily
down through this last century to touch mine. 
To soothe my own anxiety by his willingness
to see and feel his own.  His exquisite knowledge 
of his own loneliness in the modern world brings 
comfort to mine.  It may be meaningless to love
him, being long dead.  All the same, I do.