Understand, I’ll slip quietly
away from the noisy crowd
when I see the pale stars rising, blooming, over the oaks.

I’ll pursue solitary pathways
through the pale twilit meadows,
with only this one dream:

You come too.

—Rainer Marie Rilke, “Pathways” (via oofpoetry)

(via dailymindfulness)


Why won’t you be quiet?
Even the wind knows not to disrupt
the trees so late in the evening.
But you brute would hiss throughout
the night, for my name, for your name -
(you scold me)
Why, I have not forgotten it yet.

(via myinkstainedheart)

April is the cruelest month, breeding
lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
memory and desire, stirring
dull roots with spring rain.

—T.S. Eliot, The Waste Land (via viage)

(Source: petrichour, via dailymindfulness)

You worship the blood
you call it hysterical bleeding
you want to drink it like milk
you dip your finger into it and write
you faint at the smell of it
you dream of dumping me into the sea.

—Adrienne Rich, from Waking In The Dark (via violentwavesofemotion)

My soul was like a summer evening, after a heavy fall of rain, when the drops are yet glistening on the trees in the last rays of the downgoing sun, and the wind of the twilight has begun to blow.

—George MacDonald, Phantastes: A Faerie Romance for Men and Women,1858 (via funeral-wreaths)

Nobody will ever love you as much as an artist can. On your worst days, they will find poetry in the knots of your hair.

—That Could Have Been Me (via mofobian)

(Source: monabittercandy, via elec3nity)

Having seen the fall, consider the rise. What harm ever came to the setting Sun or Moon?

—#Rumi (via scent-of-me1980)

I speak of love that comes to mind:
The moon is faithful, although blind;
She moves in thought she cannot speak.
Perfect care has made her bleak.

I never dreamed the sea so deep,
The earth so dark; so long my sleep,
I have become another child.
I wake to see the world go wild.

—Allen Ginsberg, An Eastern Ballad (via sullenmoons)