Whom do they see?
Do they see me,
Or only the shell-
My outward looks?
    Unruly brown hair,
    A sparkling pair
    Of bright blue eyes,
    And a lopsided smile.
    Ruffled peasant shirt,
    That silk wrap skirt.
    Celtic knot necklace,
    And tall black boots.
Or can they see,
When they look at me,
That behind this mask
Lies a greater Power?
    That I am dead,
    And in my stead
    There reigns a God
    Of grace and truth.
    By giving all
    And letting fall
    That crazed illusion
    Of control,
    I am free
    To truly be
    The real self
    That God created.


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