mirrors.

the morning glass greets me with a frown as
again
i search it for my meaning.
what do i read?
am i pretty today?
“your hair is not gathered right,
and black would turn more heads,”
it whines,
devouring minutes,
never smiling, always pointing.
faults changing and shallow,
it is never pleased.
i can’t stay any longer.
the image there is not the fullness
is not forever
is not even mine.

a looking-glass of paper beckons
from the corner
i search it for my meaning.
what do i read?
i see heavier faults in me
past the skin
but constancy and hope.
that what these eyes can see
withers with the weeds.
that the forever Treasure is hard to chase
but His face is beauty.
they think they will see it
on the screen,
in this tangible glass.
but they will see beauty,
they will see
Him
in a girl that finds her meaning in a cross
and loves.