The Mosaic Is Me.


Who am I?

A jumbled mess and a masterpiece.

Mentally and spiritually strong, yet weak.

Shaping, bewildering, molding, and tearing me.

All these things, how can they be?

I fall to my knees.

I beg and plead.

Show me the truth, so I can see.

My soul quickly swells with a binding peace.

The answer’s clear. I now can see!

A man, a cross, and shed blood made it be.

The beautiful and the wretched, the mosaic is me.








One response to “The Mosaic Is Me.”

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