I see the marred reflection of
A less than perfect soul;
The voice of anger or despair
Will often take control
And lead me down a darkened path
Where they can take their toll.
I don’t like what I often find
Reflected back at me.
Sometimes the image is obscured
So much that I can’t see
The Maker in whose image I
Was made, supposedly.
But then the darkened waters clear
And I see what He’s seen;
Each good thing He knows I can be
And not what I have been,
For as He’s cleared my reflection
So He’s washed my soul clean.
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