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“It is all about praising. Created to praise, his heart is a winepress destined to break, that makes for us an eternal wine. His voice never chokes with dust when words for the sacred come through. All becomes vineyard. All becomes grape, ripening in the southland of his being. Nothing, not even the rot in royal tombs, or the shadow cast by a god, gives the lie to his praising. He is ever the messenger, venturing far through the doors of the dead, bearing a bowl of fresh-picked fruit.” — Rainer Maria Rilke
It is all about praising.
Created to praise, his heart
is a winepress destined to break,
that makes for us an eternal wine.
His voice never chokes with dust
when words for the sacred come through.
All becomes vineyard. All becomes grape,
ripening in the southland of his being.
Nothing, not even the rot
in royal tombs, or the shadow cast by a god,
gives the lie to his praising.
He is ever the messenger,
venturing far through the doors of the dead,
bearing a bowl of fresh-picked fruit.