“Being an artist means,
not reckoning and counting, but ripening
like the tree
which does not force its sap
and stands confident
in the storms of spring, without the fear
that after them may come no summer.”
— Rainer Maria Rilke
Let me be your wildflower
I felt it in my heart, one fine morning of spring, whilst I wished I was somewhere else, doing something important in some ways, I felt that perhaps I could let You in (…)
I have so much left to cry
I have so much left to cry. Did it occur to you? That perhaps behind those many smiles lies a silence that won’t die. (…)
I have longed to move away
I have longed to move away, from the hissing of the spent lie and the old terrors' continual cry, growing more terrible as the day, goes over the hill into the deep sea (…)
“It does come. But it comes
only to the patient,
who are there as though eternity lay before them,
so unconcernedly still and wide.
I learn it daily, learn it with pain
to which I am grateful:
patience is everything!”
