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. 

    My redemption.

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