My poetic attempt at Psalms 24

Psalm 24 WSB

The earth is His, the fullness too,

Every breath we take is borrowed, passing through.

We stand on ground we never earned,

Yet claim it as ours, though we’ve barely learned.

Who climbs the mountain where Truth resides?

Only a heart that drops its ego’s pride.

Clean hands, clean thoughts, not born—but made,

Through fire and faith where illusions fade.

I lift my soul above my clay,

Begging the Light to lead my way.

My lies collapse beneath His gaze,

My fears dissolve in the Ten’s ablaze.

Lift up your heads, you rusted gates,

Let the King of Glory shift your states.

From dust to love, from rage to calm,

From trembling fists to an open palm.

Who is this King our hearts adore?

The Strength that breaks the inner war.

He fights my beasts so I can see,

He conquers me to make me free.

So rise, you gates inside my chest,

Let Love come in and build its nest.

Creator of all, both heart and breath—

He lifts my life from ego’s death.