Mirror, Mirror on the wall,
Long since busted by those who can see through me,
With the special vision, reserved for God,
And those who glimpse my soul,
On an all too regular basis.

Busted. Now the imperfections are not just a little dot or blemish,
In need of cleaning with some sparkly Windex or similar,
I have become unclear to myself,
Unseeing what others see,
Obfuscating the obvious.

Busted. So what to do, now the real halo is exposed,
Reflect, pray, change.
All is possible, but this seems now a terrible,
Long look in the rear view mirror,
Which shows all which looked nice to me.

For what now is clear.