Nothing ever ends poetically. It ends and we turn it into poetry. All that blood was never once beautiful. It was just red. —Kait Rokowski (via adderalldust
You darkness, that I come from,
I love you more than all the fires
that fence in the world,
for the fire makes
a circle of light for everyone,
and then no one outside learns of you.
But the darkness pulls in everything:
shapes and fires, animals and myself,
how easily it gathers them! —
powers and people —
and it is possible a great energy
is moving near me.
I have faith in nights.
—Rainer Maria Rilke, from The Book of Hours