Psalms In The Heart

💔🔥  “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 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.

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” 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" ( 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.

 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 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.”