I have been blessed by angels,
who do not see the full measure
of the better nature they awaken in me.
Their words fall gentle as spring rain
on the parched and blistered earth
burned over by self-inflicted agonies.
Their touch is softer than owl feathers,
yet I see their fingerprints on my soul
as if imprinted into stone.
The goodness in people is seldom spoken,
and too often fades from view,
but never is it wholly gone:
instead, it echoes into eternity.
These angels of a better nature
have borne wingless me up
until I could see for myself
the reflection of their mercy in me,
the worth of a human being,
and the flowers born of every thorn.
They rekindled my compassion,
holding the pieces of my heart together,
so I could stitch them whole
with needle and thread they placed
into my hands with every lesson.
Wherever you go, there are angels:
hiding in the sublime imperfections of others.
Should you seek them out,
I wish you my good fortune in finding them,
so you might stand in the light
cast by their halos yourself.
The only thing they ask of you
is to pass on the gifts they give,
as they have done before you
in the names of their own angels.
The goodness in people is seldom spoken,
and too often fades from view,
but never is it wholly gone:
instead, it echoes into eternity.
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