I’ve received nothing but kindness all my days. Every difficulty I’ve suffered was kindness in disguise. The meannesses and cruelties, the deceptive, crooked ways — I give thanks for each of them. And for each that I’ve committed, I leave a flower at its grave. There are some unmarked, some with names. I bow to all, but not in shame. I accept the grief and love the blame. I go in peace. I wish you the same. For I have paid my debt in pain.
June 2, 2019
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Categories: New Poems & Pieces
Tags: Diaries, Gratitude, Journals, Kindness, Memory, Poems, Poetry
William Michaelian 