For thirty years I was blacksmith of my soul.
I put it in the furnace of austerity and burned
it in the fire of egotism.
I laid it upon the anvil of reproach and beat it
with the hammer of blame until I made my soul a mirror.
For thirty years I was the mirror of myself, and
was forever polishing that mirror with diverse
acts of stoic harshness and detachment.
I now reflect on what trappings I had embraced
as my own:
On my waist, I wore a belt of insecurity, a breastplate
of dishonesty; a shield of mistrust.
My campaigns have taken a turn.
I am now a prisoner stripped of my armor,
I can no longer run, no longer hide.
I have cried out for understanding, to a memory,
a part of my life no longer denied.
I have reached out and found my strength.
Now, I look into that mirror and what do I see?
Girded around my waist is truth; integrity is my
breastplate; and faith, hope and love are
my new shield.
I have seen that the garments I once fashioned
For myself were but temporary and hollow.
They would perish life chafe in the wind.
Now, I have been bestowed with the garb
that is eternal, as my prayers were
answered- for now I tread the path
lighted by knowledge: art, poetry, and music.
My Guides are Monet, Frost, and Bach