Psalms In The Heart

“The Campaign Between Lives” We stand between the lives we’ve known, Between the seeds already sown, Between what died, what comes alive, Between the will that won’t survive. We see the states both dark and bright, Called death by day, called life by night, No place to run, no camp to flee, This war is waged internally. Persistence pulls us thread by thread, Through all the living and the dead, Each step returns us to the flow, An endless path we come to know. I pray for you, you pray for me, No self remains, no “I,” no “he,” Each works the other’s broken plea, Till all are answered— eternally .

Who Presses Send I didn’t wake up holy, I woke up late, Phone buzzing debts, another sealed fate. Coffee tastes bitter, mirror won’t lie, I ask what’s wrong , but I don’t ask why . I try to be good, I try to be strong, But every intention bends itself wrong. I say “Creator, help,” then rush my day, Forgetting the words before they decay. I think I decide when to finally pray, When pain gets loud or hope runs away. But the cracks showed up before I could choose, Like a script already written, I just read the cues. The what wasn’t money, or peace, or relief, It was seeing my heart as a professional thief. Stealing the moment, the credit, the light, Calling it freedom while losing the fight. The when wasn’t planned, wasn’t marked on a chart, It came when the ego ran out of smart. When excuses collapsed and the mask finally slipped, That’s when the prayer got honest, not scripted. The where wasn’t church, or lesson, or room, It was inside the wreckage, the dust, the gloom. Between who ...

Traveling through the city day after day seeing the lost love in every way wondering what’s next for those who don’t see how to relate to them the way things should be I watch them rush with eyes cast low carrying weights they’ll never show phones in their hands, hearts locked tight chasing small comforts to get through the night I’m no better, I bleed the same wear different masks, play the same game thinking I’m whole ‘cause I study and pray while ego still whispers, you’re fine—stay this way So how do I love them, cracked as I am with shaking knees and an empty plan not fixing their lives, not preaching the truth but standing beside them in borrowed youth Maybe it’s silence, maybe a glance maybe just giving the heart a chance to feel their burden as if it were mine and beg the Creator to stitch us in time No speeches, no flags, no winning the fight just choosing connection in plain daylight city keeps moving, lost love still stays but one shared heart can redeem our days

“A Clean Slate Between Us” We come to the Ten with a tired face, Dragging the week, the doubts, the race. Each one certain he’s failed again, Silent despair tucked under his skin. We sit together yet guard our pain, Speaking of storms, of loss, of strain. Not seeing how every careless word Can drain the life from a friend unheard. We say we came to give, to unite, Yet carry the night into the light. We forget the charge placed in our hand— To raise the hearts, not help them sink in sand. Because a friend does not need my truth If my truth strips him of strength and youth. He needs my fire, my borrowed breath, Not my poetry dressed up as death. The work is simple and cruelly clear: Bring life into what’s trembling with fear. Not wisdom, not depth, not clever lines— But hope that says, “You’re doing just fine.” To sit in the Ten is not to confess, It’s to cancel myself for the group’s success. If I leave him heavier than before, Then I robbed the society at its core. I must walk in li...

Standing for the Creator We work all day in this corporal life Pulled between hunger and heavenly strife Never asking, what’s the game? ’Cause every blow feels just the same Everything sent us is meant to mend The shattered will the heart must send Not to escape, not to defend, But face the place where cracks must bend No running off when strength runs thin, No holy mask to hide the sin When faith goes dry and hope feels dead, We stand on what the sages said No bargain struck, no deal for light, Just choosing truth in endless night The work is done where no one sees, Between the fear and bent knees Each breath a vow we never said, Each step a prayer the ego bled Not crowned below, not marked by fame, But known Above—by standing in His Name Not seen by day, not praised by way, Yet lighting worlds by how we stay

   “NOT THE PAYCHECK — THE HANDS”  (English) We don’t move unless there’s rest at the end, We won’t lift a finger unless something bends. It’s not laziness, no—this goes deeper than that, We’re built from a Root that never once had to act. Creation was born with a hunger inside, A will just to take, to be filled, satisfied. So why’s the table set, but the feast locked away? Why’s the Light knocking softly, but we can’t say “stay”? Because taking feels rotten when form’s not aligned, Receiving for self leaves a bad taste behind. So the Light pulled back—not from lack, not from fear, But to teach us how to receive without shame in the mirror. So what’s the reward? Not pleasure, not gold, Not blessings stacked high or stories retold. The paycheck is this—say it slow, say it true: Give me the hands that know how to give You. Not the feast—give me hunger that’s clean, Not the wine—give me vessels unseen. Give me screens, give me reflected flame, So when I receive, I do...

I thought responsibility meant standing tall, Doing my part, never ready to fall. Fixing my steps, correcting my way, Proving my worth day after day. But the truth broke through like a merciless wave: No one here asked me to be brave. No one asked me to finish the race— Only to care for the friends in this place. We’re all in one boat, cracked and worn, Floating between despair and dawn. No one steering, no one clean, Just broken hearts and borrowed dreams. I have no power to fix a soul, No strength to make another whole. I can’t force light, I can’t command sight, I can’t pull a friend out of night. So where’s my work if I can’t perform? Where’s responsibility if I can’t transform? It hit me hard, simple and clear— My job is to stay near. To care when faith runs dry, To hold the rope when spirits die. Not to lift them, not to lead— But to remind them we all need . Responsibility isn’t doing it right, It’s refusing to leave the fight. It’s saying, “Brother, I’m just like you— Same do...