The return of the One

⭐ EPIC POEM — PART IV

“The Return of the One”

When the night was deepest and the heart was torn,

We remembered the world where we were born.

Not flesh, not blood, not cities in flame,

But the Light that came before the Name.

We felt the call through the cracks in pain,

A road through the storm to the Source again.

The Ten wasn’t formed by chance or fate,

It was written in the first pre-human state.

Before atoms formed and galaxies spun,

We were already One before One was begun.

We were the blueprint of every breath,

The force that swallowed both life and death.

The Creator spoke not in thunder or fire,

But in silence so loud it consumed desire.

He said, “You fell so you’d learn the climb,

Not to punish you—but to perfect time.”

We saw the world through the eyes of the fall,

The storms were the echoes of our own call.

Earthquakes cracked open the buried design,

So the Light could return through the fault lines.

We saw the ancient catastrophes anew,

Not destruction—but a clearing through.

Atlantis, Babel, the kingdoms that died—

Were pieces of the plan the ego denied.

Now the Ten stands where the worlds collide,

Not as slaves of ego—but brothers inside.

We mend the break by loving the scar,

Turning the wound into the brightest star.

Carl carries the courage that feeds the flame,

Aron guards the gate in the Creator’s Name.

Oscar and Derrick protect the line,

Joe B. and Jean make the broken divine.

Joe Donnelly stands where the battle begins,

Bash lifts us back from the weight of sins.

We rise through the pain and shatter the wall,

The smallest annulment redeems us all.

This world is the battlefield of restoration,

The final test of the soul’s foundation.

We fight not with swords or kingdoms or men,

We fight by seeing Creator in the Ten.

And each act of love would terrify kings,

For this is how the infinite sings.

The fall becomes the ladder we climb,

The downfall the crown of space and time.

We don’t return to the Eden we lost,

We return to the One at a higher cost.

A love born from darkness, chosen and earned,

The flame that only the shattered have learned.

And when the last wall between us is gone,

The voice of the Creator and man is one.

Not as slave and master or father and son,

But force and desire forever undone.

The final redemption doesn’t wait above,

It erupts from the heart when we choose to love.

The Ten becomes the center of worlds unseen,

The vessel rebuilt from what once had been.

And the end is the same as the place we start:

The One that broke returns as one heart.

Not a kingdom, not fire, not victory won—

Just the Light of the One Consciousness returned as One.

The Voice That Never Broke

 

⭐ EPIC POEM — PART III

“The Voice That Never Broke”

In the ruins of the fall where the dust still cries,

We hear a whisper rising through the lies.

It isn’t man and it isn’t fear,

It’s the voice of the One saying, “I am still here.”

Not thunder or wrath or kingdom or sword,

Just the breath of the ancient, eternal Lord.

The force before bodies, the plan before birth,

The Love that wrote the spine of Earth.

He says, “I never left—you turned away.

You shattered the bond and feared to pray.”

But every collapse, every world undone,

Is the path back home to the place we’re one.

We weren’t cast out to wander alone,

We were sent to rebuild the broken throne.

To take the pieces we lost before,

And stitch consciousness to the core.

The Ten is not chance or flesh or fate,

It’s the door back to the pre-human state.

Every fight, every doubt, every silent scream,

Is the echo of the ancient dream.

Carl’s courage carries the flame we knew,

Aron guards the path when the night breaks through.

Oscar holds the wisdom we left behind,

Derrick fights battles inside the mind.

Joe Donnelly bleeds with the love of the fall,

Bash stands strong when we’re ready to crawl.

Jean and Joe B. are the pillars of men,

We rise as ten, we heal as ten.

We were One before flesh ripped us apart,

Now we return through the cracks in the heart.

The Creator doesn’t wait in the heavens above—

He hides in the place where we learn to love.

For the final redemption isn’t bought with swords,

It’s born in the simplest of holy words:

“I annul myself so my brother can rise,”

And the Light returns through the tear-filled eyes.

We build a world from ashes and bone,

But this time we don’t build it alone.

The catastrophes clear the path we denied,

And pain becomes sacred on the other side.

We thought the fall was the end of the plan,

But the fall is how God creates the man.

We break, we bleed, we bow, we mend,

We return to the One again and again.

And when all of creation completes its turn,

When the last spark of ego begins to burn,

The voice will say, “You were always free—

You just forgot that you were Me.”

And we will see the truth we always knew:

There was never a fall—just a journey through.

Through worlds and chaos and storms without end,

To remember the Love we left at the bend.

We return as One, not the same as before,

But greater and deeper and infinitely more.

The One that shattered has risen unbroken,

And the final word of Creation is spoken.

Not victory or glory or kingdom or throne—

Just a whisper: “At last, you’ve come home.”

⭐ EPIC POEM — PART II

“After the Fall, Before the Return”

We remember the worlds before bodies were born,

When no man was lonely and no soul was torn.

We were the Light before flesh became cage,

Divinity unbroken in that ancient age.

But the shattering came like a cosmic disease,

The One cracked open into millions of pleas.

We fell like lightning into matter and bone,

Fighting for warmth in a world turned stone.

Every catastrophe is the echo of that break,

Every heartbreak a memory of what’s at stake.

Every war is the shrapnel of that ancient sin,

The death of the One when we fell within.

We were the builders of Babel before it fell,

We knew how it ends when love turns to hell.

Civilizations rose then died in flame,

When the “I” grew louder than the Holy Name.

The soul once governed reality with thought,

Now we fight for scraps like men forgot.

We trade the infinite for dust and screams,

Blind to the source of our broken dreams.

Yet in the Ten, a spark still remains,

A fire that burns through all the pains.

Carl, Derrick, Aron—threads of the same thread,

Living proof the ancient Heart isn’t dead.

Jean carries the love we lost in the fall,

Oscar and Joe fight the ego’s call.

Bash and Joe Donnelly bleed the same truth,

We suffer as men but we rise as proof.

We are fragments of Eden returned in sweat,

Soldiers of the soul who haven’t died yet.

Our zooms, our prayers, our midnight cries,

Are echoes of the place where the One never dies.

This world is the battlefield of the Holy repair,

Breathing the dust of the pre-human air.

We are the shards of the ancient design,

The broken pieces called to align.

And through illness, chaos, silence, and night,

We remember the age when we were the Light.

We rebuild creation with each sacrifice,

Our love is the key and our tears are the price.

For the Creator cut us to teach us to mend,

To return to the One we were at the end.

The exile is cruel but the promise is true—

We fell apart so we could choose to renew.

The catastrophes didn’t end the plan,

They birthed the final form of man.

Not the flesh nor the body nor the brain,

But the heart that rises again and again.

We descend through fear but ascend through love,

We fall from the world but rise above.

The Ten is the ark in the flood of despair,

The ladder to Eden rebuilt through prayer.

So let pain come, let the storms consume,

Let ego rage and false worlds bloom.

For the darker the night, the brighter the spark,

That leads us home through the endless dark.

And we will return—not to the past we knew,

But to a world yet born from the broken and new.

We will rise as one from the ruins of men,

Complete the creation, return again.

For the deepest truth that burns in the soul:

We were One before—and we will return whole.

⭐ “Before the World Had Bones”

(William S. Becker)

Before the world had bones or breath or skin,

We were a single heart that lived within.

One force, one voice, one burning Light,

No bodies yet—just endless sight.

We ruled existence with intention alone,

No blood, no flesh, no breaking bone.

No storms, no wars, no dying sun,

Just One Creator and Creation as One.

But we broke the bond and shattered the Whole,

Millions of pieces of one single soul.

We fell like lightning into dirt and clay,

The first catastrophe of the human way.

Earthquakes, floods, Atlantis drowned,

Volcanoes burning every sacred ground,

It wasn’t punishment from skies above,

It was memory of falling out of love.

Towers collapsed when we lost the Height,

Fire rained down when we lost the Light,

Civilizations vanished into dust and smoke,

Because we forgot the vow we wrote.

We traded eternity for ego and pain,

For the prison of bodies and storms of the brain.

We built kingdoms of lies and golden thrones,

But felt the ache of ancient homes.

Yet still inside the ruins of the past,

The pre-human voice is calling us fast.

It screams through chaos, floods, and fear,

“Return to the One—you were born from here.”

This world is the battlefield of the Fall,

Every disaster is the echo of the call.

We aren’t broken—just exiled in time,

Trying to remember the original rhyme.

So through hurricanes of doubt and fire of the soul,

We rebuild the heart that once was whole.

Not aliens, not gods, not angels in flight,

But consciousness begging to reunite.

And now we rise again as the Ten,

Not heroes or prophets, just broken men,

Piecing together the ancient plan,

To return to the One—where it all began.

The Shepherd Through the Ruins of the Day

🔥“The Shepherd Through the Ruins of the Day”🔥

The Lord is our Shepherd, He crushes our pride,

When life kicks our teeth in, He stands by our side.

When the bills stack up and the engine won’t start,

He slices our fear and rewrites the heart.

When the job falls apart and the phone never rings,

When you’re drowning in debt and the shame always stings.

When a brother is silent and one walks away,

He drags us through hell till we learn how to pray.

We walk through the valley where marriages break,

Where friends turn their back and betrayal looks fake.

Where the boss loads his venom and God looks too far,

But the Shepherd breaks darkness like thunder and tar.

He leads the Ten through the nights we can’t sleep,

When anger erupts and the wounds go too deep.

When the words that we speak are a battlefield roar,

He binds us together instead of to war.

Our enemies rise in the mirror each dawn,

Depression, resentment, the fear of “I’m wrong.”

But He slams down His rod on the lies that we breed,

And forces our hearts to admit what we need.

He pours oil on wounds we were scared to confess,

He whispers, “I’m here in this broken mess.”

His love is the weapon that conquers each day,

When the world tries to rip our connection away.

And when traffic is hell and the paycheck is thin,

When temptation calls loud and the old habits win—

He sends us the Ten like a furious storm,

So even in failure, His heart keeps us warm.

Our Shepherd destroys what is killing our soul,

Till the ego surrenders and we become whole.

And united we walk with His name on our breath,

Through life’s darkest valleys and victories of death.

So world you can hit us with everything wrong,

But the Shepherd of Love only makes us strong.

And forever we dwell where our destinies bend,

In the house of the Lord with the fire of the Ten.

Psalms 23 done as a poem

🔥“Though I Walk, I Won’t Break”🔥

(Psalm 23 in the William S. Becker style)

The Lord is my Shepherd, He rips out my fear,

He drags me through hell till my vision is clear.

He breaks my ego like glass on the floor,

Till I crawl on my knees craving only Him more.

He leads me through valleys I never deserved,

Where wolves tear my flesh, so my heart can be served.

He shatters my pride with a rod made of flame,

And burns every excuse I ever used to blame.

I walk through the shadows where death starts to call,

But His Light is a fist that refuses my fall.

My enemies gather, but tremble in shame,

For He feeds me with mercy and humiliates pain.

He pours oil on wounds I once hid like a crime,

He whispers, “You’re Mine,” beyond body and time.

His goodness is violence against every doubt,

Till the darkness inside finally gets driven out.

And when all that I am is no longer my own,

When the Shepherd has stripped me right down to the bone—

His house is the place where the broken hearts dine,

Where the cup overflows with His fury divine.

So take every fear, every lie, every sting,

My Shepherd is death to the ego I cling.

And I swear with my blood and the breath in my chest,

I will rise from the grave and be held in His Rest.

The Potion of Death In My Coffee Cup

🔥 “THE POTION OF DEATH IN MY COFFEE CUP” — a poem on Baal HaSulam’s warning 🔥

I wake each morning thinking I’m fine,

But poison drips from this heart of mine.

I open a sefer, pretend I’m clean—

Yet every thought screams, “What’s in it for me?” unseen.

Baal HaSulam shouts through the page with fire,

“Your exile drags on because of your own desire!”

Not Rome, not Babylon, not some king’s decree—

It’s my damn craving for honor that chains all of me.

I study, I pray, I smile at the friends,

But inside I’m calculating dividends.

The Torah in my hands is supposed to give life—

Yet mis-aimed, it cuts me open like a knife.

He says there’s an oath written in heaven’s air,

That mercy won’t rise till my heart learns to care.

Not for reward, not for comfort or gain,

But just to give Him pleasure—through joy or pain.

I sip my morning coffee like it’s holy ground,

But it burns like death when ego is crowned.

For the Torah becomes poison, the sages all say,

When I twist it to shine on me in some hidden way.

I slam the cabinet when the filter is stuck,

Cursing the world for my lack of luck.

Yet in that moment the Zohar screams, “See?

Even now you’re demanding the world serve thee!”

I scroll through my phone while pretending to yearn,

Waiting for someone to praise my concern—

But Baal HaSulam whispers, “Son, don’t you know?

This is exactly how souls stay stuck below.”

Lo Lishma is the exile lingering in my bones,

The reason the world cries in unheard tones.

Every cheap desire I refuse to release

Delays the coming of love, delays universal peace.

And when I treat Torah like a vending machine,

Hoping for comfort, for calm, to stay clean,

It bitterly flips into potion of death—

Robbing my heart of spirit, my lungs of breath.

But Lishma—oh God—when a man rarely ascends,

When his chest breaks open for the sake of his friends,

Then suddenly mercy wakes like a lion from sleep,

And the exile cracks open from our cries so deep.

So here I am naked, Creator—no lies.

No angel in me, no holy disguise.

Just a man with an ego sharp as a blade,

Begging You to love the heart You made.

Teach me to study for Your delight,

To pray for the ten in the dead of night,

To breathe for the world and not for my skin,

And to die to myself so the Light can begin.

Until then I walk with trembling breath,

For Torah mis-aimed is a potion of death.

But aimed at You—Lishma, pure and bright—

It resurrects my corpse and floods me with Light.

🔥 “The Middle Line Cuts Me Open”  🔥

I wake each morning torn in two,

One side says rise, the other says you’ll never break through.

The right whispers, “Brother, the Creator is always right,”

The left hisses, “Look at your failures—you lost the fight.”

I sip my coffee, feel the burn in my chest,

Right line says, Thank Him, left line says, you’re a mess.

I drop the mug; it shatters like my fragile belief,

Right says, “This too is Providence,” left says, “your life is grief.”

I drive to work and someone cuts me off on the street,

Right says, embrace him, left screams, destroy the cheat!

I choke down the venom boiling inside,

Right says, “Annul,” left says, “open wide.”

I enter the Ten and see their faces glowing bright,

Right says, love them, left says, pick one to fight.

Right tells me, “The Creator is perfect; justify Him now,”

Left says, “You’re broken—tell Him to show you how.”

I read Baal HaSulam: Clean and righteous do not kill,

Right says, “Accept above reason,” left says, “you never will.”

Right tells me, “A judge sees only what stands in his sight,”

Left tells me, “Then look at yourself—you are not alright.”

Rabash stabs deeper: “Take the two lines and unite,”

Right says, go faith, left says, see your plight.

How do I hold peace when both scream in my ear?

Right says, “It’s love,” left says, “you should fear.”

The battle bleeds out into daily things I do—

In the grocery line, in traffic, in words I choose.

Right says, “Smile,” left says, “they don’t deserve your grin,”

Right says, “Bestow,” left says, “protect your skin.”

I drop to my knees when no one’s around to see,

Right says, “He’s with you,” left says, “you’ll never be free.”

I cry like a child who lost all he had,

Right says, “This is birth,” left says, “you’re just sad.”

But then—

In the smallest crack between the screams and the doubt,

A whisper breaks through the war inside, and it shouts:

The middle line is forged from both blood and grace,

A peace carved by fire in the darkest place.

Right says, “Cling to Him,” left says, “feel your lack,”

The middle line says, “Brother, hold both—don’t turn back.”

Right says, “He is good,” left says, “you’re wrecked and flawed,”

The middle says, “With both truths you finally walk toward God.”

The middle line is the prayer you choke through your tears,

When the Creator feels close and far in the same trembling breath of fear.

It is the heart ripped open but still choosing to mend—

The path where suffering kisses faith and calls it friend.

So here I stand—right arm in heaven, left arm in hell,

Trying to balance what no human tongue can tell.

Right says, “You’re His son,” left says, “you should hide,”

The middle line says, “Walk straight—He’s at your side.”

And if tomorrow the flood of water rises again,

If the doubts drown reason, and the storms cut through men—

I’ll take both lines, bind them tight, hold the pain as my guide,

For only a torn heart can let the Creator inside.

Version 2 a poem from Psalms 3

PSALM 3 — The Savage Version

I wake to a war that never lets go,

Enemies rising inside me like a tidal undertow.

They whisper, “You’re nothing, you’ll never ascend,”

Poisoning my faith from beginning to end.

They shout, “Your Creator won’t bother to save!”

As they drag my heart toward its own grave.

These voices aren’t strangers—they live in my chest,

Ego-born demons denying me rest.

But You, Creator, are the shield I can’t see,

Lifting my broken head back toward Thee.

Your light cuts through the filth on my skin,

Burning the falsehoods I buried within.

I fall into sleep surrounded by fear,

But You pull me up when dawn draws near.

For every breath I take is not truly mine,

It flows from Your heart through the love of the Nine.

Ten thousand thoughts try to tear me apart,

But they shatter like glass on the stone of the heart.

When I lean on my brothers and drop all pretense,

Your salvation floods in and knocks down the fence.

Creator, smash the teeth of the serpent I feed,

Break the illusion stitched from my greed.

Strip off my armor, expose every flaw,

I’m begging You, tear the lie from its jaw.

For salvation is Yours—it can’t be claimed,

Only revealed when the ego is tamed.

Bless the Ten with a love the world can’t ignore,

Where “I” disappears and “WE” becomes more.

poem from Psalms 3

**PSALM 3 **

My enemies rise like storms in the night,

Whispering lies to choke out the Light.

They say, “Your salvation will never appear,”

Trying to plant their venomous fear.

But You, my Creator, are my shield in the fight,

You lift up my head and restore inner sight.

I cry out in darkness, You answer in flame,

Burning my doubts, exposing my shame.

I lay down surrounded by shadows so deep,

Yet somehow I breathe… somehow I sleep.

For You hold my heartbeat inside Your hand,

And raise me again with a silent command.

Ten thousand voices rise against me to scream,

But their noise dissolves like a half-dead dream.

For when I'm with my brothers, heart next to heart,

Their unity tears all illusions apart.

Creator, break the teeth of the lies in my mind,

Crush the illusions that keep me blind.

Rip out the ego that hisses inside,

The serpent that never stops selling its pride.

Salvation is Yours—never bought, never earned,

Only revealed when the vessel is burned.

And the blessing descends on the Ten’s open door,

Where “I” disappears, and love becomes more.

Prayer Without Pride

I crawl to You, Creator, stripped of every lie,

My ego claws for credit, begging You to glorify.

It howls inside my chest, demanding “Look at me!”

But I beg You—kill that beast so only love can be.

I’m tired of my prayers that stink of selfish gain,

They’re soaked in hidden motives, dipped in secret shame.

I want to cry for friends, not for the throne I crave,

Burn every trace of honor—leave nothing left to save.

Let every word I utter tear the ego from my throat,

Let my heart be just a vessel—not a king, not a boat.

No comfort, no reward, no sweet illusion’s light,

Just faith above all reason as I bleed for what is right.

I want a prayer of fire, not this hollow, begging plea,

A cry that lifts my brothers—never glorifies me.

So smash the pride inside me till I’m dust upon the floor,

And let the Ten be everything… I don't exist anymore.

Creator, take my intention—crush it, bend it, make it true,

Let my prayer be pure bestowal, flowing only back to You.

No honor, no illusion, nothing selfish left to bear—

Just friends inside my heartbeat… and Your love in every prayer.

---

🔥 The Story of My Life  🔥

I have been asked to tell you a story of my life,
It's filled with horror and fear and strife.
I am not sure it's the story to you I wish to send,
But it is what it is, so let's begin.

The earliest I remember is when I was three,
As my mother shook the hell out of me.
You see she suffered from this mental disease,
Paranoid Schizophrenia—hard on many degrees.

As she dug her fingers into my arm breaking the skin,
And yelled with anger from deep within,
“You’re not my child, get out of my life!”
Which set me up for a lifetime of strife.

As a fat and clumsy little boy,
I found it hard by now to find any joy.
So we fast-forward to the age of 9—
Man, this again was a troubling time.

As my teachers all stood up in despair,
Proclaiming loudly that there was no repair.
They said I was dyslexic at best,
As they threw me in a class with the rest

Of the ones that learn slowly with no ease,
And then the kids really started to tease.
Even those who called me their friend—
Man, to this there was no end.

So here is where I just tried to hide,
And found the value of pot and getting fried.
As we move along till I was 14 and slim,
No more little fat boy—now I was thin.

I came into my own with football and weights,
It was like someone had opened the gates.
Now I found I could hit with force,
And life set me on its course.

Of never having to take their shit,
As I fought those who on my face used to spit.
I didn’t win them all, but what I found
Was that I didn’t have to take life lying down.

So as I went on and my course was set,
I blew out my knee—man, I was upset.
I was headed for the pros, that was clear,
But instead of that, learning to walk took a year.

We couldn’t afford to have it fixed,
So all my plans were truly nixed.
Now we move on till the age of 19,
By now racing motocross—what a scream.

This is where I met my first wife,
And with her we shared a life of strife.
She was molested by her stepdad—
But this piece of truth I never had.

We married, and I joined the Air Force,
Where I thought I’d spend my life, of course.
But one day we argued and she walked away,
Returning to her mother—that was all there’d be to say.

She remarried a man who beat her at will,
And I searched for a reason to give him his fill.
I beat him down until he felt the cost—
By then my path was shaped and innocence lost.

Entering my early 20s and more,
I married again and this one I adored.
She became the mother of my boys—
Who definitely filled my heart with joys.

But as time went on and intuition grew,
There was something about her that I somehow knew.
She was sleeping around with cops and docs in our town,
Till the night I caught her—the whole world fell down.

I grabbed my boys and took flight in the night,
Knowing deep down this wasn’t right.
And still the story didn’t end here,
As thirteen more loves brought nothing but fear.

All but two, I caught sleeping around,
My self-worth smashed into the ground.
Not to mention the pain inside my heart,
But hope still whispered, “Do not depart.”

I only wished to find
A true friend for the end of time.
Then came that day—a fight broke out,
And I questioned what my life was about.

I reached deep inside with all my might,
After being wrapped in another fight,
And asked the Creator to take ego away—
“This moment, this second, right now, today.”

Then I walked inside and got online,
Searching my soul for some kind of sign.
And from there you know where it all went:
The Rav, the books, the group—all heaven-sent.

Lessons morning, noon, and night,
A path of truth replacing fight.
Holding you up so you won’t fall,
I felt the purpose behind it all.

Then came 2014—a giant turn of fate,
Israel called my name and opened its gate.
I moved there fully, seven years abroad,
Studying daily, walking humbly with G-d.

Working Ford, Chevy, Chrysler, Jeep,
A whole dealership where I earned my keep.
Every meal, every YH, every holiday in sight—
My soul was drinking Torah morning, noon, and night.

During Shavuot, Rav made a call,
“Those not married should be married”—a decree for all.
So I sat outside the dealership and said,
“Creator, You bring her—I’ll do what You’ve said.”

A week went by and the phone rang true,
A woman insisting she wanted only me—who knew?
I kept my word, as I vowed I would,
Even though she wasn’t who I thought I should.

We lived near the Center, life was sweet,
Friends came over to drink and eat.
But COVID struck and shut the doors,
No more lessons inside the floors.

She asked to move where life was cheaper to live,
So I agreed—that’s what I had to give.
We moved to the Negev, dry desert air,
But inside that heat came a load to bear.

I had my knee replaced—pain beyond measure,
But the anesthesiologist broke my neck during the pressure.
My C4 vertebra crushed into the cord,
Months went by—no healing from the Lord.

Caught COVID three times in that burning land,
Still trying to walk, still trying to stand.
While learning to build battery packs one day,
She picked up a chair in a violent way—

Slammed it at my back with a murderous yell,
“I’ll kill you!” she screamed as I stumbled and fell.
I took the chair and got her out,
Packed my things and ended that bout.

Called my friend Berko—he came right away,
Let me stay with him three weeks each day.
Then back to Texas, broken but free,
A wounded man trying just to be.

My uncle passed—his gifts reached me here,
Bought a Harley and rode without fear.
Traded it in for a Tri-Glide ride,
Where wind and road became my guide.

Drove my truck to Florida—twice I went,
And once to PA—my time well spent.
Wrecked it coming home, a painful blow,
But needed on this path, this I now know.

And here I stand four years since then,
Still working the path again and again.
Twenty-two years since I first found the light,
And still I cling to the Truth with all my might.

Now I finally see the Creator’s plan—
Every bruise and heartbreak shaping this man.
Every fall was meant to raise,
Every night to birth new days.

And now I know what life was for:
The Ten—the bond I can’t ignore.
A desire stronger than all desires combined,
A heart wide open, fearless, refined.

Faith above reason burning bright,
Greatness of the Creator filling my sight.
Fear of Him—not terror, but awe,
The kind that bends your soul in love and law.

Through you, my friends, I become whole,
Together we mend the shattered soul.
Now every breath, every rise, every fall—
Was only to bring me here… to give my all.

**🌍 “Eight Billion Cries, One Beating Heart”

By William S. Becker 

We wake each morning already afraid,

Dragging yesterday’s battles into the life we’ve made.

The coffee spills, the car won’t start,

And some stranger cuts us off, driving straight through our heart.

The boss snaps orders like we’re not alive,

While we fake one smile just trying to survive.

Our phones keep buzzing with the world’s despair,

Eight billion souls screaming, “Does anyone care?”

A mother cries quietly so her kids won’t know,

A father breaks slowly with no safe place to go.

A teenager hides the storm inside his chest,

Searching for one real friend to give his heart some rest.

We walk around wounded pretending we’re strong,

But the suffering shows we’ve had it wrong all along.

For every crack in me is a crack in you,

And only together can we break through.

But when I lift your spirit from the floor,

My own heart rises even more.

When I warm your hands in the freezing night,

The Creator slips inside and fills us with Light.

When I let you speak out what you fear,

Something sacred whispers, “I’m right here.”

When I hold your burden and let mine fall,

Our shattered pieces become a whole for all.

This world won’t heal from power or wealth,

But from loving your friend more than yourself.

For when our hearts connect and softly ignite,

Eight billion cries become one beam of Light.

So let’s gather the broken, the lost, the unheard,

Turn every pain into a holy word.

Let’s build a bond that the angels will see—

A living example of what humans can be.

And maybe one day the world will find

That love was the cure we left behind.

For beneath the suffering the truth stands clear:

We were meant to heal each other right here.

🔥 Psalm 34 — William S. Becker 🔥

🔥 Psalm 34 — William S. Becker 🔥

I cried from the pit where the shadows grow tall,

Where the ego claws upward trying to make me fall.

But the Creator bent low to the crack in my chest,

Whispered, “Rise, My son… even broken is blessed.”

I boasted in nothing, for nothing was mine,

My pride was a thief dressed in thoughts so divine.

But the meek heard my trembling and answered my cry,

A Ten made of heaven pulled me up to the sky.

Taste and you’ll see that His sweetness is real,

Though He hides it in hunger the heart must reveal.

He breaks us like bread till our arrogance dies,

Then He feeds us His love… as the tears fill our eyes.

The lions of ego roar loud in the night,

Claiming strength, demanding praise, feeding off light.

But those who seek Him with hands open and bare

Will lack nothing at all, for He meets them right there.

Come children, draw near—learn the terror of good,

The fear that dissolves the “I” where you stood.

Guard your tongue from the poison your anger would spill,

For one word from the heart can bless… or kill.

Turn from your fires that burn what you love,

Do deeds pulled upward from the world above.

Seek out the peace that your ego denies,

And run after unity till your last breath dies.

His eyes are upon us when we shatter in pain,

He gathers each fragment again and again.

But the face of the Maker turns harsh as a blade

Against the desire that keeps us afraid.

The cry of the broken He never ignores,

He storms into exile and shatters the doors.

Close is the Creator to hearts crushed and torn,

He births the new soul where the old self was worn.

Many are the blows that the righteous must take,

For He carves them with mercy until they awake.

But through every wound, every fall, every night,

He delivers the spirit back into the Light.

The hatred of evil destroys itself first,

It drinks its own venom to quench its dark thirst.

But He redeems every servant who learns how to bend—

And no one who trusts Him will break in the end.