It's a process

The outer layer stares back at me in utter disgust

Seething at the teeth, knowing the truth

Of what must be don to rid me of the vileness

Tha houses itself in the hearts of all men

Tearing off the old man was only half the battle, however.

To completely surrender my mind, emotions, and will over

to Providence will have to result in the burning of my own flesh

and bones to produce the necessary refinery through fire.

I look at myself again and am reminded that

the man in the mirror only being a reflection of the past

Is not definite in its defining.  It shows a process.