When poetry inspires...

No one lives his life.

Disguised since childhood,
haphazardly assembled
from voices and fears and little pleasures,

we come of age as masks.

Our true face never speaks.

Somewhere there must be storehouses where all these lives are laid away
like suits of armor or
old carriages or
clothes hanging limp on the walls.

Maybe all things lead there,
to the respository
of
unlived
things.

-- Rainer Maria Rilke