.
.
The kings of the world are old and feeble.
They bring forth no heirs.
.
Their sons are dying before they are men,
and their pale daughters
abandon themselves to the brokers of violence.
.
Their crowns are exchanged for money
and melted down into machines,
and there is no health in it.
.
Does the ore feel trapped
in coins and gears? In the petty life
imposed upon it
does it feel homesick for earth?
.
If metal could escape
from coffers and factories,
and the torn-open mountains
close around it again,
.
we would be whole.
.
~ Rainer Maria Rilke
from The Book of Pilgrimage, II,24
.
