Any man who has surveyed any land can tell another:

No river's surface runs smooth,

Not a gem is found cut,

And while man will do all he can to silence the babbling brook,

                                                                     polish the encrusted stone,

                                                                     spray the wilting rose,

                                                                     and chisel the monolithic marble,

All hold their beauty in their own nature,

And nothing done with any purpose can recreate their original perfection.

Picturesque,

Or grotesque,

It is not up to man to decide any ideal form,

Other than their own - You decide your flaws.

Sin is a personal experience,

An inner log of your regrets that cannot lose their hold.

Reject your regrets! Let your sins run free!

Stand with me and see your grace,

A gift which will never be robbed.

Our flaws are less temporary than the dust in the sunbeams,

                                                                   the sands in the waves,

                                                                   the flash of a thought,

                                                                   and the flury of a temper.

I stand flawless - not perfect -

Because I relinquish what I love and accept what I detest,

Not asking for the gemcutter's sandpaper and grinder,

But remaining towering and empowering like the aging mountains,

Taking what I am given like snow on the peak,

Waiting for the Spring thaw.