Regrets

a poem of not looking back

I don't regret
what happened

to me,
because of me,
consequentially.

No, I really
do not. 

Why
would
I?

When in the end
it was the living
that did me in.

For all
the capacity
of knowing

truth
is between
those lines

of 
wise 
learnings. 


This poem is from the book, Die with Me: Surrendering to Suffering. 

Photo by Simon Berger on Unsplash