The World Ain't Closing In

 

“The World Ain’t Closing In”

by William S. Becker

Some days it feels the world caves in,

Like walls that press beneath the skin.

My thoughts, they scatter, twist, and shout,

While faith fights hard to drown them out.

Old memories knock — they want a seat,

They whisper shame and half-defeat.

But I ain’t buying what they sell,

I’ve walked through worse, and walked it well.

For G-D don’t like the ugly lie,

That says “give up” or “don’t even try.”

He built this soul with stubborn flame,

That laughs at darkness — calls it by name.

I talk to Him through smoke and tears,

Through quiet hopes and hidden fears.

He smiles, I know, through every test,

And whispers, “Son, just do your best.”

So let the thoughts parade and spin,

They can’t shake what I hold within.

For I was made to ride the storm,

To break, then bloom, to fall, transform.

And when I’m old — say one-four-zero,

Still fighting ego like a hero,

I’ll grin and say, “That Light was mine —

It burned through hell, but stayed divine.”

The Purpose of Society

 The Purpose of Society

I came with dreams of holy light,

Instead I found my inner blight.

The “friends” were mirrors, sharp and clear,

Each one exposing what I fear.

I wanted love, I got a knife,

That carved the corpse I called my life.

They smiled and said, “This pain’s your cure,”

I bled in faith I’d stay impure.

My heart screamed, “Why can’t I just be free?”

The echo roared, “Die — that’s unity!”

Every word they spoke was salt in my wound,

Till pride and reason lay entombed.

Then slowly, softly, Light drew near,

Not to reward — but to make me hear.

That every bruise was carved by grace,

To make a vessel — not erase.

I saw the purpose — not to rise,

But to fall into my brother’s eyes.

There in that gaze, the world turned whole,

The Creator whispered — “This is your soul.”

So I walk this path of shattered skin,

To find His face engraved within.

Brutal mercy, wrapped in flame,

No self remains — just His Name.

The Blindmans Crown

 

💔🔥 Poem — “The Blindman’s Crown

I walk with eyes that never see, yet claim the dawn as mine,

I taste the ash, but call it sweet, and drink the dark as wine.

The mind cries out, “You fool! You’re lost!” — the flesh begins to sneer,

But still I bow before the void and whisper, “You are here.”

My faith’s a bleeding knuckle fight, my prayer a broken bone,

I bite the dust with grateful lips and call this pain my own.

Each doubt’s a nail, each fear a cross — yet love still takes its turn,

The fire burns me into dust, the dust begins to burn.

I walk through wrath and judgment’s womb — the soul’s small Ibur cry,

A child of rage becoming peace beneath the blackened sky.

For every thought that drags me down, I lift it up above,

And find within its bitter weight the tender weight of love.

No sin remains, no fall’s in vain, no darkness undesigned,

Each bruise becomes the alphabet the Light will read in kind.

So let me crawl in blindness still, let reason’s voice disown,

For faith above all knowledge builds the heart into a throne.

The Thought That Serves The Flame

💔🔥 “The Thought That Serves the Flame”

by William S. Becker

A thought’s no king—it’s just a slave,

To serve the want, the beast, the crave.

It dances blind at desire’s command,

Building the castle that ego planned.

I think because my heart demands,

Its hunger sculpted by unseen hands.

Each dream I chase, each fear I feed,

Was born from what I think I need.

The mind’s a liar cloaked in grace,

It bows to hunger’s masked embrace.

But if I fix my gaze above,

That same fire burns with holy love.

So day and night I till this ground,

Where selfish seeds in dust are found.

I water them with thought so pure,

Till only His desire endures.

Then thought becomes the chariot bright,

Desire transformed into endless Light.

And what was “me” dissolves at last—

A slave no more, but free and vast.

The Screen That Burns

“The Screen That Burns”

The Light once filled my foolish clay,

Then fled — the night replaced the day.

It wasn’t gone — it struck from near,

Till all my veils dissolved in fear.

The clash inside — oh holy fight,

Between my dark and His pure Light.

Each wound, a polish; each loss, a climb,

The pain that purges space from time.

My will — the beast — it never rose,

It stayed below, in grave repose.

But something higher shed its skin,

The screen refined — the war within.

I lost my crown, the Keter’s flame,

No robe remained to bear that Name.

Yet in that loss, I found release,

For ashes sing when souls find peace.

So burn me, Lord, refine my shield,

Till all my pride to You is healed.

Let vessels weep, but screens ascend,

Through shattered love, I reach my end.

Rewarded- I Will Hasten It (From shamati 195)

I had it once — the taste of light,

Then stripped away deep in the night.

The glow was gone, my heart was torn,

And faith was born where I was shorn.

He gave me gold, then took the key,

To show me what I’d yearn to be.

He built my hunger, carved my pain,

So I could call His loss a gain.

Each tear I shed became my bowl,

Each break engraved upon my soul.

The rich are blind, but beggars see —

The empty heart becomes the sea.

So rip me open, burn me bare,

I’ll find You only in despair.

For every wound reveals Your face,

And loss itself becomes embrace.

Let others choose the easier way,

I’ll take the blows that make me pray.

Through shattered glass Your stars ignite —

Rewarded — You will hasten light.

The Womb of Lack

“The Womb of Lack”

I build my house on hollow ground,

each prayer a whisper, a broken sound.

I lift my eyes, but see no King,

still chant His Name as if it’s spring.

I talk of love with lips of stone,

the words are His, but not my own.

I beg for faith, yet cheat the night,

pretend I’ve seen the hidden light.

He hides to show how blind I stay,

He wounds to teach me how to pray.

He breaks my heart till cracks appear,

then pours His mercy through my fear.

So curse this void that burns my chest,

this hunger proves I’m not at rest.

If I could die before His throne,

I’d find the life that feels like home.

O Lord, reveal what I don’t feel—

my barren heart, my rusted zeal.

For only one who knows he’s weak,

is strong enough the King to seek.

And till I stand where angels kneel,

I’ll love the wound that will not heal.

For in that pain, Your Name is sewn—

my lack, my grave, my stepping stone.

Even The Unworthy Are Heard

📜 "Even the Unworthy Are Heard"

(Inspired by Shamati 113 – “The Eighteen Prayer”)

They say He hears each mouth that prays,

Yet mercy seals what He conveys.

Then what of cries that lack the grace—

Do they just vanish into space?

A twisted path, this narrow gate,

Where love and judgment intertwine with fate.

One moment lifted, next laid low—

The opposites are all we know.

To be so humble we disappear,

Yet roar with truth when friends draw near.

To bow before the least of men,

Yet hold the world and start again.

Our words may fail, intentions rot,

But still He hears—no soul forgot.

The filth, the pride, the broken pleas,

He drinks them all like storm-tossed seas.

This is the weight, the work, the song—

To know we're weak, yet still belong.

To cry with lips that once deceived—

And be embraced, though not believed.

So if you find your prayer denied,

Or mercy masked, or hope has died—

Know this, dear heart: He bends His ear

Most close to those who drown in fear.

Heart of the Ten

 In the heart of the Ten, where the frequencies blend,

We’re transmitters, receivers, on a path with no end.

In the dance of desires, from the surface we rise,

Trading ego’s illusions for love’s truer prize.

Oh my brothers, my sisters, in this sacred embrace,

We are tuning our hearts to a higher place.

Every thought that we shift from the self to the whole,

Is a step toward the One, the correction of soul.

For the glory of the Creator is the end of our quest,

In the love we uncover, in the trials we’re blessed.

We are builders of bridges from the will to receive,

To a realm of pure giving, where only love we believe.

So here is our mission, our journey so vast,

To transform every moment as we hold each other fast.

In the heart of the Ten, in the love that we lend,

We find the Creator, our beginning and end.

The Record in the Heart

 

“The Record in the Heart”

The light once burned through me, pure and clean,

Then vanished—left me raw, unseen.

The echo carved its name inside,

A scar of love that will not hide.

I reached for Him with trembling hand,

He pulled away—so I could stand.

For vessels form when lights withdraw,

The pain itself becomes the law.

Each record whispers, “Try again,”

Each fall reveals the heart of man.

The sweetness gone, the hunger stays,

And drives my soul through endless days.

The first look crowned me with delight,

The second stripped me bare at night.

From what He took, the vessel grew—

An emptiness both sharp and true.

So now I live on holy ache,

A shattered heart for Heaven’s sake.

I learn to read what tears have signed—

The Reshimo etched in heart and mind.

Until at last the light will see,

A mirror shining back at Thee.

The broken record starts to sing—

“I’m nothing, yet I hold everything.”