What wall of mirrors will we use to look at ourselves now--
broken, bending, borrowed?
We distort ourselves until even we
don't know who we are.
Then, as if grace had poured itself on us,
we rise out of chaos, out of noise
into realization,
into hope.
And all the laughter that has beat itself so long
against the confines of our bound-up souls,
now lifts its wings to fly.
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