Exposed on the cliffs of the heart
Look, how tiny down there
look
the last village of words and
higher (but how tiny)still one last
farmhouse of feeling
Can you see it
Exposed on the cliffs of the heart
Stoneground
under your hands
Even here, though
something can bloom; on a silent cliff-edge
an unknowing plant blooms
singing into the air
But the one who knows
Ah, he began to know
and is quiet now
exposed on the cliffs of the heart
While, with their full awareness
many sure-footed mountain animals pass
or linger
And the great sheltered birds flies, slowly
circling, around the peak's pure denial
But without a shelter,
here on the cliffs of the heart...
Author's Notes/Comments:
Rainer Maria Rilke.
Love is at first not anything that means merging, giving over, and uniting with another (for what would a union be of something unclarified and unfinished, still subordinate-?); it is a high inducement to the individual to ripen, to become something in himself, to become world, to become world for himself in another's sake
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Splendid Piece - love is frequently misunderstood
most believe that it is a tool designed to scratch
that which itches... Love is a "Verb" purely an
action. I love this splendid poem.