Hand-Me-Downs

How stupid do you have to be

To judge souls by appearance?

For surely any blind man sees

Apparently such ignorance

For as you judge you shall be judge

In superficial haste

Which elevates contentiousness

And unity lays waste

You cannot hide such ugliness

Behind a chic facade?

Or cloak pious corruption

In the vestments of their fraud?

Discard elitist’s hand-me-downs

Of loathing and self-doubt

And stand before God naked

Without pride--your inside out

Do you think God’s impressed by style?

Is He concerned with vogue?

Or does he praise the lilies

Those which toil not or sow?

Is he impressed with shiny things?

Embroidered trims of gold?

Do these bring heaven's favor?

Or a schism to the fold?

Is he enthralled with plainness

And stoic sanctimony?

Which frowns on other envious

Contentment forged and phony?

Do any man-made standards

Improve on His design?

In uniforms, regalia

In rags, or silken twine?

Does he define the soul

And its potential in such things?

Or see in them His image

As a priceless, sentient being?