🔥 “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.