THE MORNING ROLLERCOASTER — Full Epic Version
PART I — WAKING INTO THE WAR
I wake in the morning and thank G-D I’m alive,
already bracing my soul for the next hard dive.
This corporal world jerks me side to side,
a rusted-out ego-run carnival ride.
My phone buzzes early like a demon on cue,
whispering, “Bill… there’s trouble for you.”
Bills on the table, the tank’s running dry,
the body groans louder than my morning sigh.
But somewhere inside there’s a flickering grace,
a memory of friends, each heart, each face.
And before the world drags me back into night,
I reach for the Ten — my one source of Light.
PART II — THE FALL AND THE FIGHT
Every step forward the ego screams, “Mine!”
poisoning the heart like a cheap boxed wine.
It claws and it argues, it wants to divide,
to throw me off balance on this wild-ass ride.
Carl’s voice in the Zoom cuts through the doubt,
Terry shows up steady even when he’s burnt-out.
Joe Bash brings thunder, Joe Donnelly brings calm,
like two sides of mercy stretched over my palm.
Derick’s fire wakes the room like a spark,
Oscar’s prayers soften the edge of the dark.
Jean carries sweetness that stitches the soul,
while Ilya and Aron make the broken feel whole.
Each one a lifeline the Creator designed,
to drag my heart out of the pit of my mind.
Without them I swear I’d be stripped down and bare,
a man with a body but nobody there.
PART III — THE CREATOR’S BLOWTORCH
The day heats up, the trials commence,
every desire pounding the gates of my sense.
My pride wants revenge, my anger wants more,
my lust kicks the hinges clean off the door.
Loneliness hits like a thief with a knife,
cutting through memories of a half-finished life.
The phone rings crooked, the bike needs repair,
and my mind starts breaking like a cheap folding chair.
But then comes the whisper — a razor so kind,
“I’m sculpting your heart from the stone of your mind.”
And suddenly suffering becomes a decree,
a workshop of pain where the soul learns to see.
Every blow that I curse, every trial I fear,
is the Creator refining what I hold dear.
He shatters the shell I keep trying to hide,
till love becomes fear and fear becomes pride.
PART IV — THE TEN WHO CARRIES ME HOME
Evening rolls in like a bruised purple sky,
and I drag my heart tired but still willing to try.
The friends gather close as the darkness descends,
and I remember again: we only rise as one — never as men.
We sit in the circle, broken but true,
offering our fragments like morning dew.
Every flaw revealed, every weakness shown,
becomes the seed of a heart we share — not own.
For this is the secret the wise always knew:
the Creator appears in the space between two.
But when ten gather wounded with love on their face,
He tears open heaven and fills up the place.
So I wake in the morning and thank G-D I’m alive,
for the chance to fall again and again and survive.
For the Ten is my compass, my cradle, my guide,
and the Creator Himself is the One on this ride.
And I whisper at night with a heart torn apart:
“Break me again, Lord…
just don’t let me drift from their heart.”
