The last couple lines of your poem reminded me of one of my all time favorite poems by Rainer Maria Rilke. ***********
To MusicMusic: breathing of statues. Perhaps:
silence of paintings. You language
where all language ends. You time
standing vertically on the motion of motal hearts.
Feelings for whom? O you the transformation
of feelings into what? --: into audible landscape.
You stranger: music. You heart-space
grown out of us. The deepest space in us,
which, rising above us, forces its way out,
--holy departure:when the innermost point in us stands
outside, as the most practiced distance,
as the otherside of the air:
pure,boundless,no longer habitable.
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Why does one write poetry? Question for the ages. Why does one think at all? Is philosiphizing a waste of time? Is just living enough? Or must we always question? So much so much.
hope you like this poem. I love his poetry.... hope you do too. I'll send something of my own soon, and talk about yours... which i liked very much.
love love and love
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