Mourning
Heart, whom will you cry out to? More and more alone,
you make your way through the ununderstandable
human beings. All the more hopeless perhaps
since it holds to its old course,
the course toward the future,
that's lost.
Happened before. Did you mourn? What was it? A fallen
berry of joy, still green.
But now my oak of joy is breaking,
what is breaking in storm is my slowly
grown oak of joy.
The loveliest thing in my invisible
landscape, helping me to be seen
by angels, that are invisible.
Rainer Maria Rilke