All the soarings of my mind begin in my blood.

I am not a poet.

I love to write, I love to read, and I love the art that comes from beautifully written paragraphs. But I am not a poet. Until six years ago, I didn’t even like poetry, and then I discovered Cummings (capitalized only for the purpose of this entry) and the rest is history. It was through him that that I learned what true poetry was all about, and I even have his words tattooed on me as a reminder.

Awhile ago, I found another brilliant light. Rainer Maria Rilke.

A quick Wikipedia search could tell anyone (right away) why I love him so much, but it goes deeper. More meaningful now that I am older. He writes:

“Everything is blooming most recklessly; if it were voices instead of colors, there would be an unbelievable shrieking into the heart of the night.”

How could I not fall in love?

My personal favorite, and perhaps one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever learned (personally):

“I hold this to be the highest task for a bond between two people: that each protects the solitude of the other.”

I cannot express how honest and true that is, and what it does to read that and understand.

I am not a poet, but damn, I can sure get it.

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