I will sing

of mercy
and clarity.
I will walk
in a way
that mirrors them.

I will begin
with myself—
within the walls
where no one watches.

I will not set
what is hollow
before my eyes.
I will not reach
for what corrodes.

I will turn away
from what twists.
Even in silence,
I will not betray
the alignment.

The crooked
will not stay near.
Those who speak
in two voices
will not find
my ear.

I will scan
the rising ground
for those
who walk in wisdom—
they will be
my companions.

No mask
will live
under my roof.
No pretense
will survive
the morning.

Each day
I will rise
and clear space—
within and without—
for what is true.

Hear me.

Let my cry
pierce through
the still sky.
Do not hide
in the hour
of unraveling.

My days fade
like vapor.
My bones burn
like paper lit
from the inside.

My heart
is dry
and crushed,
a husk that forgets
how to beat.

I forget
to eat.
I forget
my face.
My voice
is thin,
like wind
through broken windows.

I am like a bird
alone
on a wire.
Eyes open,
waiting for
what never comes.

My name
is a curse
in their mouths.
My days
are shadows
of what never happened.

But you—
you remain.
You rise
even when all else
sinks.
You will rebuild
what I cannot.

The future
will look back
and see it:
that you heard
the groan
no one else caught,
that you bent down
to the dust
and lifted.

Let this be written
for those not yet breathing.
Let them know
the source
does not vanish.

You look down
from the silence
not in judgment,
but in knowing.
You free
what is bound.
You stitch
together time.

Nations will gather
not around flags
but around presence.
The elements
will join the song.

You laid
the first rhythms—
sky and stone
know your name.
But even they
will wear out.

You do not.

You are the thread
through change,
the one
constant
in becoming.

Let those who come after
find you
still here.

Let my whole being

bless the One
who breathes through me.
Let me not forget
what is true.

You restore
what breaks.
You heal
what festers.
You lift me
from collapse,
crown me
with tenderness,
feed me
with what satisfies.

You renew
my youth—
not as escape,
but as returning
to essence.

You work justice
for the unseen.
You reveal
your ways
in quiet patterns.

You are
compassionate,
deep-breathing,
slow to ignite,
rich in mercy.

You do not hold
our missteps
against us forever.
You are not
a scorekeeper.

As high as sky
from soil,
so vast
is your kindness
to those who remain open.

As far as shadow
from noon,
so distant
have you flung
what once defined us.

You know
what we are.
You remember
how temporary
we feel.

Our days
are grass—
brief,
bright,
gone.

But your mercy
extends
like a river
through generations—
to those
who keep turning
toward the center.

You are grounded
in a place
above names.
Your rhythm
rules without rule.

So let all things—
seen and unseen,
close and distant,
bright or broken—
bless you.

And let me,
small breath
among many,
do the same.

Bless the One

with my whole being—
the One
wrapped in light
like a garment,
stretching space
like canvas.

You set your chambers
on beams of cloud,
ride the wind
with ease,
flame and air
your silent messengers.

You laid the earth
on its axis—
it will not collapse.
You clothed it in sea,
then called the waters back
to their edge.

They obeyed
your boundaries.
They flow
but do not overrun.

In the valleys,
you cause rivers to thread.
They quench
what lives.
Every beast
finds its fill.
Even the birds
make homes
in the branches
you lifted.

You water the mountains
from places unseen.
The ground
drinks deeply.

You make the grass grow
for creatures,
you draw food
from soil.
Wine gladdens,
oil softens,
bread strengthens—
you are behind them all.

Trees rise
full of sap,
homes to flight
and silence.
High crags
for wild things.
Burrows
for the hidden.

You made
the moon
to mark time,
the sun
to know its descent.

Darkness unfolds,
and creatures stir.
Then light returns—
and the world reorders.

All this,
from your breath.

How many are your works!
You made them all
with care.
The earth
is full of your language.

Look at the sea—
wide,
deep,
alive.
It teems
with movement,
from the great
to the barely seen.

They all wait
for your hand.
You open—
and they are filled.
You hide—
and they return
to dust.

You send forth
your breath—
and life
begins again.

Let your presence
remain
in all of this.
Let the earth
sing
what it knows.

You look
and the ground trembles.
You touch
and the mountains smoke.

I will sing
as long
as breath remains.
I will speak
in alignment
with your pulse.

Let my thoughts
be rooted
in joy.
Let distortion
fade
from the frame.

Bless the One,
O my soul.

Give thanks

to the presence
that outlasts empires.
Call out
the name
beyond names.
Make known
the rhythm
that carried us.

Sing to it.
Speak of it.
Let wonder
rise again.

Glory in the unseen.
Let those who seek
what is real
rejoice in their hunger.

Seek the pulse
beneath time.
Seek the face
within the mirror.

Remember the wonders—
the signs,
the quiet disruptions,
the whisper
that altered everything.

You are children
of that current—
descendants
of a promise
older than bones.

The covenant was not written
in stone,
but in memory.
It passed
from voice to voice—
a vow
not of domination,
but of presence.

You were few,
you wandered,
you carried no borders—
and still,
you were not consumed.

When harm approached,
the unseen
intervened
without spectacle.

And when famine came,
a way
had already been made.
One who was cast out
became
the key.

Chains became doors.
Strangers became kin.
Wisdom rose
in unlikely places.

When the time was right,
the people were drawn out—
not by force,
but by flame,
by wind,
by the unraveling
of what no longer held.

Night became light.
Bread fell
from nowhere.
Water poured
from stone.

They walked
with wonder
in their hands.
And the promise
did not fail.

They entered
into spaciousness,
and what had been
a whisper
became
a home.

All this,
so that they might
remember—
not just what was done,
but who they were
within it.

Praise

the one who endures—
whose kindness
outlives
our forgetting.

Who can speak
the fullness of that mercy?
Who can hold
its weight
in one breath?

Blessed
are those
who live justly,
who act
with presence
in every moment.

Remember me
when clarity comes.
Include me
in the rising
of your people.
Let me feel
the joy
of restoration.

We
have twisted the pattern.
We
have forgotten
what saved us.

Our ancestors
missed the wonder—
even when it unfolded
before them.
They traded awe
for fear.

Yet you still
carried them.
You opened the sea
with silence.
You led them through
not because of them,
but because of you.

Still,
they forgot again.
They craved the past,
even in chains.
They desired
what harmed them.

And you
gave them
what they wanted—
and let them feel
its emptiness.

Jealousy rose,
violence followed,
faith was twisted
into image.

They exchanged
what breathes
for what glittered.

And still—
you reached.
Still—
you heard.
Still—
you lifted.

Time after time,
they stumbled.
Time after time,
you raised them up.

Even now—
we are like them.
Tethered
to comfort,
forgetful
of mystery.

But you
do not abandon
your name.
You remember
the covenant
they forgot.

Save us—
not to escape,
but to become.
Gather us
into clarity.
Let us rejoice
in what is real.

Blessed
is the One
whose mercy
flows through
all generations.

Let every voice
say yes.
Let every soul
return.

Give thanks

to the Presence
that does not end—
whose love
outlasts forgetting,
whose kindness
holds the edges
of the map.

Let those who were lost
say so.
Let those pulled
from the currents
speak.

They wandered
in dry lands,
circling hunger,
searching for a home
that did not vanish.

When they cried out,
they were heard.
The path opened.
The way straightened.

Let them remember—
and speak
of the goodness
they touched.

Some sat
in the shadow
of walls,
caged in by choices
or by the choices
of others.

They had refused
to be guided.
So life grew tight,
low,
unlit.

But they called
from the dust,
and were lifted.
The doors opened.
The iron bent.

Let them remember—
and speak
of the mercy
that met them.

Some were reckless
with themselves.
They became
fragile,
small.

They hovered
near the end.
But they called out
in the silence,
and healing came—
not in a flash,
but in a return.

Let them remember—
and speak
of the light
that rose again.

Others took
to the deep—
following commerce,
following curiosity—
and found
the wildness
beneath their feet.

The wind lifted.
The sea tilted.
They cried out—
and were brought
back to center.

Let them remember—
and speak
of the calm
that follows surrender.

Let them give thanks
in gatherings.
Let them tell it
without shame.

The Presence
turns rivers
into desert
and deserts
into bloom.

It humbles
the arrogant
and raises
the forgotten.

The hungry
are given ground.
The silenced
are given voice.

The upright
see it
and rejoice.
Injustice
stops its mouth.

Let the wise
hold these things
in their chest.
Let them see—
love
writes the pattern.

My heart is ready.

It is tuned
to what matters.
I will rise
with the day
and sing.

I will wake
what sleeps—
strings, breath,
the dawn itself.

I will give thanks
among the forgotten.
I will speak
your pulse
in places
that never heard it.

For your love
reaches higher
than sound.
Your truth
outstretches
the sky.

Be lifted
above distortion.
Let clarity
cover the earth.

Free us
with your right hand—
not with force,
but with fidelity.

You have spoken
from the still place,
and I will echo it.
The land
will be divided
not by conquest,
but by care.

What was scattered
will be stitched.
What was claimed
will be shared.

But who will carry us
to the place
that resists us?
Who will walk us
into the stronghold?

You are the one
who outlives nations.
Do not leave us
to ourselves.

Give us help
not made of smoke.
Human solutions
fade like vapor.

With you
we move forward—
not as conquerors,
but as light
returning
to what was lost.

Do not stay silent,

O Presence
who knows the underside.

For mouths have opened
against me—
full of knives,
full of lies.

They speak
what is not true.
They answer love
with accusation,
peace
with war.

They say:
“Let him fall.
Let the one who walked upright
stumble.”

They curse
as if it were a game.
They wish ruin
as if ruin
were righteous.

And I—
I am fading,
shadow-thin,
brushed aside
like dust
on broken stairs.

My knees weaken.
My heart
has grown
hollow.

I have become
a joke,
a story
told by those
who never knew me.

Help me,
Presence unseen—
for your name,
for your truth,
for your mercy.

Let them know
it was not my hand
that held me up.
Let them see—
you did it.

When they curse,
let it dissolve.
When they mock,
let silence
be their answer.

Let shame
wrap itself
around its own source.

But I—
I will give thanks.
I will praise
from the core
of my collapse.

For you
stand beside
the broken—
you defend
what has no defense.

You save
not through spectacle,
but through fidelity.
You deliver
from those
who devour
with smiles.

The Presence

speaks within—
“Sit in stillness
until what opposes
becomes what serves.”

From the core
of clarity
your strength
will radiate.
You will rule
not through violence,
but through vision.

In the day
of transformation,
your people
will awaken—
willing,
whole,
dressed in dawn.

You are named
not by bloodline,
but by essence—
a priest
not of ritual,
but of resonance.

You hold
both light and weight,
both crown
and root.

The unseen
does not waver.
It will not take back
what it has spoken.

It is not spectacle
that judges—
but truth.
It is not armies
that endure—
but mercy.

You drink
from the river
of clear purpose.
You lift your head
and see
what is not yet
but already near.

I will praise

from the marrow—
in the gathering,
in the quiet,
among those who still
seek.

The works
of the Presence
are studied
by those
who love
what is real.

What has been made
is full of splendor
and weight.
It carries
the fingerprints
of forever.

Compassion
is not an exception—
it is the pattern.
The unseen
provides,
remembers,
remains.

The mind
that fears the void
will miss this—
but the heart
that leans
will understand.

Truth and justice
are not ideas—
they are foundation stones.
Everything built
upon them
endures.

What has been made
is faithful
and firm.

Redemption
is not just rescue—
it is the reclaiming
of meaning.

Holy
and intimate
is this name.

To begin in awe
is to begin in wisdom.
All who walk
this way
become whole.

Let the voice
that understands
say: yes.

Blessed

are those
who walk
with reverence—
who find joy
in what is just,
who live
by the rhythm
beneath the noise.

Their lineage
is not just blood
but legacy—
rooted in kindness,
grounded in grace.

Abundance
surrounds them—
not in hoarding,
but in sufficiency,
not in excess,
but in peace.

Light
rises
in the dark
for those
who are steady.
They are gracious,
compassionate,
unshaken.

Good comes
from those
who live generously—
who lend
without keeping score.
Their foundation
does not crack
in tremors.

They are
not afraid
of sudden ruin.
Their hearts
are anchored
in something deeper.

They trust—
not blindly,
but fully.
Their courage
is quiet.
Their presence
outlives fear.

They give freely.
They scatter blessing.
Their impact
will echo
long after
their name.

The wicked
see and shrink.
Their schemes
melt
in the presence
of peace.

Let all who serve

the unseen
speak light.
From this moment
to the next,
from sun’s rise
to its folding—
let the name
beyond names
be held.

High above
constructs,
thrones,
systems—
is the source
of all life.

Yet it leans low.
It sees
what the proud
step over.
It lifts
the forgotten
from the dust,
raises the discarded
from the waste.

It seats them
among the grounded,
gives them
a place
among the wise.

It opens
the barren hands,
fills them
with new song,
new legacy,
new life.

This is
what greatness is:
to raise
what is bowed,
to dwell
with those
no one names.

When the people

moved out
from under the weight—
when they left
what enslaved them,
the world
shifted.

A place
became sacred
not by name,
but by presence.

The sea
saw it
and fled.
The river
turned back
on itself.

The mountains
leapt
like creatures startled.
The hills
danced
without music.

What did you see,
O sea,
that made you retreat?
Why did you pull away,
O river?

Mountains—
what joy
shook you?
Hills—
what song
moved you?

Tremble,
O earth,
not in fear,
but in awe—
before the force
that turns rock
into water,
flint
into flow.

Not to us,

not to the self—
but to that which is beyond,
give weight.
For love
that does not erode.
For truth
that does not fold.

Why should voices ask,
“Where is your anchor?”

The One we trust
is not contained—
dwells beyond
what hands can hold.

But the idols
of this world
are shaped
by human hands—
mouths that do not speak,
eyes that do not see,
ears that cannot hear,
noses that do not breathe,
hands that cannot lift,
feet that never move,
throats
without sound.

Those who make them
become like them—
mute,
hollow,
rigid.
So do all
who give them power.

But you—
you who still seek—
trust the unseen.
It is your shelter,
your shield.

House of soul,
trust.
House of wonder,
trust.
You who revere
what is real—
trust.

The Presence
remembers us.
It does not forget
those it formed.
It will increase
the small
and the great.

It gives
not as reward,
but as rhythm.
Heaven
belongs to the vast.
Earth
is entrusted
to our hands.

But the dead
do not sing.
The grave
knows silence.

We
are still breathing.
We
will bless
what is beyond
from now
to the next breath—
and beyond that.

I love the Presence—

because it listened
when no one else did.
Because it leaned in
when I was unraveling.

I will speak
as long as I have breath.

The cords of death
wrapped around me.
The weight of the grave
pressed down.
I was tangled
in fear
and fading.

Then I called out—
not with eloquence,
but with desperation:
“Help me.”

And kindness answered.
Compassion moved.
The unseen
bent low.

I was brought back
from the edge.
My soul returned
to its rhythm.
My eyes
to their vision.
My feet
to the ground.

What can I give back
for all this?

I will lift
this moment
like a cup,
and name it
deliverance.

I will walk
in the open.
I will keep
my promise.

Even when I said,
“I am undone,”
I was still held.
Even when I said,
“Everyone is lying,”
you remained.

What you value
is not performance—
but people.
The lives
of the overlooked
are precious
to you.

I am your servant—
not owned,
but devoted.
You cut the rope
that held me.

I will bring
what I have:
gratitude.
And I will speak
your name
in the company
of those
who still believe
in mercy.

All peoples,

open your mouths
in wonder.

All nations,
recognize
the thread that holds you.

For love
has no expiration.
Truth
does not fracture.

Let that
be the sound
we make.

Give thanks

to the One who endures—
whose love
has no closing chapter.

Let the seekers say:
Love endures.
Let the steady say:
Love endures.
Let the overlooked say:
Love endures.
Let all who breathe say:
Love endures.

In distress,
I cried out.
And space opened
around me.

The Presence was there—
not to fix,
but to stand beside.
What can fear do to me
when I am not alone?

It is better
to trust what breathes
through the silence
than to cling
to crowns
or consensus.

They surrounded me—
but I stood.
They closed in—
but I burned through.
Like fire among thorns,
they flared
and fell.

I was pushed
to the edge,
nearly gone.
But something
caught me.

My strength
is not my own.
My song
comes from elsewhere.
I have been held
in the arms
of something
wiser than ruin.

The tents of the just
echo with laughter.
What is true
cannot be broken.

I will not die.
I will live.
And I will tell
this story.

The struggle
was not punishment.
It was refining.
It was opening.

The gates
of clarity
are open.
I walk through.

This—
this is the threshold
of the real.
Those who are awake
enter here.

The stone
that was cast aside
is now
the cornerstone.
This was not chance.
This is marvel.

This is the day
that presence made.
Let us rejoice
and live it fully.

O Presence,
save us.
Send wholeness.

Blessed is the one
who arrives
aligned.
We bless you
from within the rhythm.

Light rises
and wraps us.
We move forward
with hands open.

You are my source.
You are my witness.
You are the one
who stayed.

Give thanks
to what endures.
Give thanks
to the unseen
that never let go.

Love
endures.

Aleph

Blessed are those
whose walk is whole,
who live aligned
even when no one is watching.

Blessed are the ones
who seek not reward,
but presence—
who listen for what is true.

You have placed
a pattern in the world.
To walk it
is to become yourself.

That I may not drift,
I hold your rhythm
in my chest.

I praise not from duty,
but from clarity.
Let me stay close
to the thread.

Beth
How does one stay clear
in a world
that clouds intention?

By anchoring in
what is real—
again and again.

I search with my whole being.
Don’t let me lose
what matters.

I store your voice
inside me
like a fire I tend
in the night.

Teach me again.
I will echo back.

I find more joy
in your pattern
than in power or gold.

I will meditate
on the way you move.
I will not forget.

Gimel
Be generous with me,
so I may live
and see
what I have missed.

I am a stranger
to this world’s designs.
Your way
is my compass.

My soul aches
with desire
for what is grounded.

Even when power mocks me,
I hold to what I know
within.

Your pattern
is my delight,
my shield
against illusion.

Daleth
I am pressed
into the ground.
Revive me
through what is real.

You heard me
when I opened.
Now give me
what holds.

I chose
the path of truth.
I laid myself
upon it.

Let me run
freely
in your way,
for you have
opened my heart.

He
Teach me the shape
of your rhythm—
not so I can memorize,
but so I can move with it.

Give me understanding,
so my life becomes
a reflection
of what matters.

Lead me into delight
that does not decay.
Incline my heart
toward clarity,
not conquest.

Turn my eyes
from hollow things.
Give me vision
that endures.

Confirm your presence
in me.
Let it be stronger
than fear.

Waw
Let your love
fall on me.
Let it carry me
through dry days.

I trust
what I cannot see
but feel.
Let me not be ashamed
of such faith.

I hold
to what you have spoken.
I long
for what is lasting.

Let your mercy
be my comfort.
Let your truth
steady me.

May your rhythm
be my song—
even in the dark.

Zayin
I remember
what you’ve spoken—
and it holds me
through the night.

This has been
my quiet joy:
that you are not absent.

The arrogant
mock without pause,
but I do not leave
the path.

I think of your rhythm
through generations,
and I am comforted.

I see those
who abandon it—
and my heart aches.

This way
is mine.
This song
is home.

Heth
I belong
to what is true.
I have said it
with my whole self.

I seek
your favor
without pretense.

When I miss the mark,
I turn quickly—
not to guilt,
but to gravity.

Even when I am pressed,
I do not forget
your thread.

I rise at midnight
not to worry,
but to thank.

I am a friend
to all
who walk in light.

The earth
is filled
with your rhythm.
Teach me
to listen.

Teth
What once wounded me
has now taught me.
What I hated
brought me back.

You are good,
and what you do
is good.
Teach me how
to live it.

The proud wrap lies
in gold leaf,
but I keep
my compass pointed.

Their hearts are heavy
with pretense,
but I delight
in the quiet way.

It was good
that I was broken—
so I could be
reshaped.

The rhythm you speak
is more precious
than treasure.

Yodh
Your hands
formed me.
They shaped
more than flesh.

Give me insight,
so I may reflect
what shaped me.

Those who seek you
will see me
and find hope.

I know
you are just.
You do not wound
without weaving healing.

Let your love
be my comfort.
Let your pattern
be my anchor.

Let the arrogant
see nothing
in me to mock.
Let my heart
remain whole.

May I be grounded
in your truth.
May I not drift
from your way.

Kaph
My soul
faints
with longing—
but I still trust.

My eyes
search the horizon
for your voice.

I ask,
When will it come?
How long
must I wait
in this shell?

The arrogant
dig pits—
but I do not wander.

All your words
are faithful.
Help me
against the crumbling.

They try
to erase me.
But I do not
let go.

Revive me
through your voice.

Lamedh
Your rhythm
is eternal—
written into sky,
into soil.

The earth turns
because you hold it.
Everything
serves something.

If I had not
loved your way,
I would have
fallen apart.

I will never
forget.
It revived me.

I am yours.
Rescue me
from what pulls me off course.

I see
the traps laid
for the unaware—
but I do not veer.

I know
your way
is wide,
and steady.

Mem
Oh, how I love
this thread—
I return to it
all day.

It makes me wiser
than the loud.
More attuned
than teachers
who forgot wonder.

It has kept me
from collapsing
into habits
that drain.

Your rhythm
is sweet
on my tongue—
sweeter than gain,
sweeter than revenge.

Through it
I see clearly,
and I walk
a different way.

Nun
Your word
is a lamp—
not a floodlight,
but enough
for the next step.

I have sworn
to stay near,
and I will.

I am afflicted—
but still alive.
Let your voice
revive me.

Accept
these offerings
from my heart.
Teach me
to breathe
in alignment.

My life
is always
on the edge,
yet I don’t
let go.

The trap
is always there—
but so is
the thread.

I have chosen
the enduring.
It is
my inheritance.

Samekh
I hate
what is false—
not with rage,
but with sorrow.

You
are my shelter,
my shield.

I wait
on what is real.

Keep me steady
so I won’t fall.
Hold me
so I stand.

Push away
what seduces.
Anchor me
in your rhythm.

Uphold me,
and I will breathe freely.
My eyes
stay on your way.

You discard
what pretends.
You lift
what’s true.

Ayin
I have lived
with justice
at my center.
Do not
abandon me.

Guarantee
what is good—
not in concept,
but in outcome.

Let the proud
fade.
Let my feet
stay grounded.

I have waited
for your clarity.
I have longed
for your nearness.

Deal with me
in compassion.
Teach me
how to live it.

Let your rhythm
revive me.
Let it be
the song
in my bones.

Pe
Your words
open like windows—
giving light
to the simplest soul.

I open my mouth
and breathe
your rhythm in,
for I long
to live it.

Turn your gaze
toward me,
as you do
to all
who love what’s true.

Guide my steps
so I do not slip.
Let no injustice
claim me.

Rescue me
from what binds.
Make me free
to live well.

Let your face
shine through me.
Teach me
what remains.

Tsadhe
You are just
in all you do.
Your pattern
is rooted in balance.

Your word
has been tested
and remains.

I am small,
forgotten—
but I do not forget
your way.

Your justice
is not seasonal.
Your truth
does not rust.

Though trouble
surrounds me,
your rhythm
is my joy.

Your presence
is right.
Your wisdom
is real.

Qoph
I cry out
with all I am.
Answer me
and I will walk.

I rise before light
to seek
what I trust.
My eyes
stay open
through night
to meditate
on what lasts.

Hear me
in your love.
Revive me
in your way.

Those who twist
draw near—
but they are far
from truth.

You are near.
Your word
is firm.

Long ago
I learned
your pattern—
and I know
it still holds.

Resh
See my need—
and lift me.
I have not left
your thread.

Plead my cause.
Redeem me.
Give me life
in your clarity.

Rescue
is far
from those
who forget.

But your mercy
draws close
to those who remember.

Many
are my adversaries—
but I don’t veer.

I grieve
at those
who forget
what matters.

I love
your way.
It is
my foundation.

Shin
Your rhythm
is awe.
It is steady
as the sky.

Even in chaos,
it anchors.

Though rulers
plot against me,
I meditate
on your truth.

Your way
brings great peace
to those who hold it.
They are not
easily shaken.

I hope
for your salvation—
not as escape,
but as presence.

I live
by your voice.
Your path
is in my bones.

My lips
praise you,
my hands
bless you,
my soul
follows you.

Taw
Let my cry
reach you.
Give me
understanding.

Let my plea
come near.
Deliver me
into clarity.

Let my lips
overflow
with truth.

Let my tongue
sing
of what you’ve shaped.

Let your hand
be my help.
I have chosen
your way.

I long
for your nearness.
Your rhythm
is my delight.

Let my soul
live
by your breath.

I have gone astray
like a thread
unraveling—
seek me.
For I have not forgotten
your voice.

In my distress,

I called out—
and the unseen answered.

Rescue me
from words
that twist.
From tongues
that smile and slash.

What will silence
a lying tongue?
What will stop
its fire?

Sharp arrows
pierce less
than hidden speech.
Burning coals
leave fewer scars
than praise
laced with poison.

Woe to me—
I live far
from peace.
I dwell among
those who thrive
on conflict.

Too long
have I dwelled
with those
who breathe war.

I speak of peace—
but when I open my mouth,
they prepare
to strike.