How could you of all, especially you,

So quietly disassemble me?

For me is my heart; my heart is truth -

Truth, regardless of petty belief.

Is beauty not in my eye alone?

Yet, you favor what a broken mirror shows

And forsake the eye of the beholder, no less.

Do you dare presume to behold yourself?

What mural is smeared upon a wall

And acclaimed a masterpiece?

What stones are sculpted to suit their flaws?

Are Monets sold for a penny a piece?

Do you know in whose image you stand?

Do you dare insult that design?

Is a mirror not merely polished sand?

Do reflections not vary in time?

Alas, view and viewer both are flawed.

And both will return to dust.

While the rest of the world will stand in awe

That an angel knew not who to trust.