Friday, February 25, 2011

unlived things


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No one lives his life.
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Disguised since childhood,
haphazardly assembled
from voices and fears and little pleasures,
we come of age as masks.
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Our true face never speaks.
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Somewhere there must be storehouses
where all these lives are laid away
like suits of armor or old carriages
or clothes hanging limply on the walls.
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Maybe all paths lead there,
to the repository of unlived things.
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~ Rainer Maria Rilke
from The Book of Hours: Love Poems to God
art by picasso

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