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In the repository of unlived things,
I find unquenched love,
A tarnished wedding ring,
An old baseball glove,
A half-sketched dream.
The sore sight fills my eye,
An oil-soaked cloth of faith,
Restraint against sin piled high,
A picture of Jesus laid to waste,
So much regret, I begin to cry.
Behold, I see a new start,
An infant’s wiggling toes,
A chest of breath and beating heart,
Courage clamors and fresh breath bellows.
Whatever your hand finds to do, do it with all your might, for in the realm of the dead, where you are going, there is neither working nor planning nor knowledge nor wisdom. —Ecclesiastes 9:10
*This sonnet explores the repository mentioned in Rainer Maria Rilke’s brilliant poem called “No One Lives His Life.”
Published by Draw Near
7 years ago 
