The Generations of the Righteous

The Generations of the Righteous

The fruit of the righteous is not flesh and bone,

But deeds of bestowal the soul has grown.

Not words of the lips, nor rituals wide,

But actions for Heaven where ego has died.

In days of ascent, he is praised in song,

In nights of descent, they condemn him as wrong.

Yet both are his children, both day and the night,

Each fall is a vessel prepared for the Light.

The narrow-eyed man sees the Torah for gain,

The good-eyed reads love in each holy refrain.

The one sows for self, and his fruits turn to dust,

The other for Heaven, his harvest is just.

Two wives walk beside him: the Shadow, the Flame,

Faith over reason, and Torah by name.

Together they crown him, his wholeness they weave,

The generations of righteous—the deeds that believe.

“Tear the Heart, Heal the Soul”

I stand accused in silence, bare,

My lips refused the needed prayer.

I sinned in hunger for my name,

I sinned by never calling Your flame.

The sin was not in lust or gold,

But that I thought my hands could hold.

I swore I’d climb without Your rope,

And drowned myself in empty hope.

Then You broke me, gates all sealed,

My wisdom mocked, my strength revealed.

My faith was shattered, crushed like glass,

I kissed the dirt, no breath could pass.

At last came tears, not mine but Yours,

They split my chest, they cracked the doors.

The gates of tears swung open wide,

I crawled on bleeding knees inside.

“Father, King, no King but You,

Without Your mercy, I am through.

I cannot love unless You give,

I cannot rise, I cannot live.”

Between my friend and me, I plead,

Between my soul and You, I bleed.

Take judgment, twist it into grace,

Bind Malchut to ZA’s embrace.

Make of my vessel a home for light,

Make of my ashes a crown of night.

If death should come, let it be Your call,

If life, then let it be for all.

You do not wish the wicked’s end,

But turn him back, become his friend.

So here I stand, stripped down, undone,

A weeping child, a shattered one.

Tear me, burn me, grind to dust,

But kiss my ruins with Your trust.

Turn failure’s grave to mercy’s dove,

Turn tears of pain to tears of love.

And when the book is sealed above,

Let it be written: He returned to love.