The Storm

The storm

awakens now

and in the night it plays

a symphony, exquisitely,

then dies.

a poem on l o v e

there is a wind that blows
from the depths of existence
and swiftly, surely, it conquers the heart.
enduring time and consequence
it rises from eternity,
and with the brightest light of joy,
with all-consuming might,
it blinds the fragile soul.

the lighthouse of life’s worn shores,
it steers the ship that's lost, to goodness.
it fills the heart so wholly that,
with its weightlessness,
it defeats both air and gravity
and lifts the life it touches
beyond all that is known.

older than memory, it is born among the stars,
who shed, and pour their awesome brilliance
into the powerful essence
that is an extract of life.
in boldness, the self is lost to its unsayable spirit
and joyful sound rings forth
from time and space unknown to us;
the resolute exploits of an entity –
the juice of happiness,
the ultimate truth,
that, without which, all is irrelevant.

as the stars would love

r.m. rilke wrote this in a letter. (i'm assuming it's about his wife).