Apr13
Apr13
Rainer Maria Rilke, The Book of Hours I, 39 (via tectusregis)

(via gnostix1)

You, my own deep soul,
trust me. I will not betray you.
My blood is alive with many voices
telling me I am made of longing.

What mystery breaks over me now?
In its shadow I come into life.
For the first time I am alone with you—

you, my power to feel.

Apr1
Apr1
simena:

Wessel Marais

simena:

Wessel Marais

Apr1
Apr1
刮风这天我试过握着你手
但偏偏雨渐渐大到我看你不见
On that windy day, I tried to hold your hand,
but the rain became heavier and heavier until I couldn’t see you anymore.
Apr1
Brenda Hillman, from Death Tractates (via violentwavesofemotion)
So, put yourself in the way
of the poem. It needed your willing
impediment to be written. Remember the lily, growing through
the heart of the corpse?
You had to be willing to let it through the sunshine
error of your life,
be willing not to finish it—
Apr1
Apr1
Apr1

Vincent Canizaro, Warm Breath

(via fables-of-the-reconstruction)

(via theantidote)

it was winter, I remember,
soft blue eyes and yellow hair

silver on the water was a moon tangled,
a dancing light

under the frozen stars
your warm breath unraveled as you laughed