Exposed on the cliffs of the heart. Look, how tiny down there, <br />look: the last village of words and, higher, <br />(but how tiny) still one last <br />farmhouse of feeling. Can you see it? <br />Exposed on the cliffs of the heart. Stoneground <br />under your hands. Even here, though, <br />something can bloom; on a silent cliff-edge <br />an unknowing plant blooms, singing, into the air. <br />But the one who knows? Ah, he began to know <br />and is quiet now, exposed on the cliffs of the heart. <br />While, with their full awareness, <br />many sure-footed mountain animals pass <br />or linger. And the great sheltered birds flies, slowly <br />circling, around the peak's pure denial. - But <br />without a shelter, here on the cliffs of the heart...<br /><br />Rainer Maria Rilke<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/exposed-on-the-cliffs-of-the-heart/
