I call to you—

come near.
Let my voice
rise to you
like breath
on cold air.

Let the lifting
of my hands
be as incense—
not for ritual,
but for realness.

Place a guard
on my mouth.
Watch the door
of what I release.

Let me not
drift
into distraction,
nor eat
what corrupts.

Let the honest
correct me.
Let the wise
strike me gently.
Their rebuke
is balm,
not bitterness.

I will not return
the blows
of the cruel.
I will not join
their game.

Their words
will scatter
like dry leaves.
Their roots
will rot
in shallow soil.

But my eyes
are fixed
on what does not fail.
You are my refuge
from collapse.

Keep me
from their snares.
Let me walk
where the net
has already been torn.

Let the traps
they set
spring beneath
their own feet.

Let me
walk free.

I cry aloud—

not to be heard
by the world,
but to be known
by the real.

I lay out
my ache,
unfold my fear
like a map
with no compass.

When my spirit
fades inside me,
you still
trace the path.
You know
where the shadows
try to swallow.

Every corner
feels like a trap.
There is no refuge,
no ally,
no witness.

I said:
You are all
I have.
You are my portion
when I have
no place.

Listen—
for I am spent.
Pull me out
from this depth
before it folds
over me.

The ones who chase me
are stronger—
but I am not
alone.

Bring me
out of this cage,
so I can breathe
your name
in the open.

Gather
what is just
around me.

Let me see
that I am not forgotten.

Hear me

not because I am loud,
but because I am true.

Let your answer
arrive
without judgment.
No one alive
could stand
under perfect scrutiny.

The weight
presses down.
The enemy of peace
has dragged my soul
into shadow—
crushed it
to the ground,
left it
like dust
in a sealed room.

My spirit
faints.
My heart
collapses inward.

I remember
the days
when I still glowed.
I replay
the echoes.
I stretch my hands
into silence.

My soul
thirsts for you
like cracked soil
waits
for the first rain.

Answer soon—
or I will vanish.
Do not hide
when I have
nothing left.

Let me hear
your voice
in the morning—
for that
is where I trust begins.

Teach me
where to go.
I lift
myself
to you.

Rescue me
from what haunts—
you are
my sanctuary.

Teach me
to do
what is right.
Lead me
on level ground.

Let your spirit
keep me whole.
For your name,
preserve me.
For your truth,
untangle me.

Silence
what destroys.
Cut off
what corrupts.

I am yours.

Blessed

is the one
who trains my hands—
not only for battle,
but for building.

My strength
comes from
what steadies me,
what shields
without control,
what draws me out
from the siege.

What is a human
that you would notice?
What is a life
that you would care?
We are breath,
we are fog—
a moment
and it passes.

Bend the sky
if you must—
but reach me.
Touch the mountain,
let it speak fire.

Scatter what confuses.
Shatter the silence
with clarity.
Stretch out your hand—
lift me
from deep waters.

For there are mouths
that lie
with elegance,
hands that move
with betrayal.

Let me sing
a new song
to the unseen.
Let strings
carry the truth
I cannot speak alone.

You rescue kings
and wanderers.
You deliver
from the sword
and the silence.

May our children
grow in wholeness—
rooted, radiant,
strong like young trees,
balanced like stone pillars.

May our homes
be full
of nourishment,
our fields
rich with peace.

May there be
no breach,
no exile,
no cry
in the streets.

Blessed
are the people
who live like this.
Blessed
are the people
who know
what holds them.

I will lift your name

with every breath.
I will speak of you
not just today,
but across the turning
of time.

Every day
holds a new reason
to praise.
There is no boundary
to your greatness—
it cannot be mapped.

One generation
passes the story
to the next.
They tell
of your wonders,
of the beauty
woven into what is real.

They speak
of your radiance.
They sing
of what sustains.

You are
gracious and full
of compassion.
You are slow
to burn,
quick to gather.

You are good
to all—
and all
you have shaped
bear the mark
of your care.

All your works
speak of your depth.
All your beloved
bless you.

They speak
of your power,
of your invisible reign—
not over,
but within.

Your way
is everlasting.
Your word
never fractures.

You hold
those who fall.
You lift
the bent.

All eyes
look to you—
and you give
without pride,
without delay.

You open your hand,
and all that lives
is fed.

You are
near to those
who call from truth.
You hear desire
and draw close.

You hold
the ones
who live awake.
You undo
what destroys.

My mouth
will speak
this praise—
and every living thing
will join
the unending song.

Let my soul

praise what is real.
Let every part of me
speak in gratitude
as long as breath remains.

Do not place your trust
in rulers,
in titles,
in mortals—
they do not have
what you’re looking for.

Their plans die
when they do.
Their thoughts
fade with their breath.

Blessed
are those
whose help
comes from presence—
whose hope
rests in what made
heaven and soil,
sea and life,
and remains
unchanged.

Justice is not forgotten.
The hungry
are fed.
The captive
is unbound.

The blind
are given vision.
The bent
are lifted.

The just
are held close.
The wanderer
is not erased.

The orphan,
the widow,
the lost—
they are not alone.

But the way
of the wicked
twists in on itself.

What is real
reigns forever—
beyond systems,
beyond eras.

Let every soul
praise.

It is good

to give praise—
not as performance,
but as alignment.

What is real
rebuilds the ruined.
It gathers
the scattered.

It binds up wounds
not with words,
but with care.

It counts
every star
and gives each one
a name.

Great is the Source—
strong beyond telling,
wise beyond measure.

The presence
lifts the humble
and lets the proud
fall
on their own weight.

Sing thanks
to the unseen.
Let strings
vibrate with wonder.

The One who made the skies
covers them with clouds,
sends rain to the earth,
makes grass
where none grew before.

It feeds the creatures
that roam and fly.
It hears the cry
of the wild.

Power
does not impress.
Speed
does not move.

What is real
delights in those
who trust,
who hope in love
that does not vanish.

Praise the presence,
O your city.
Let your gates
be strong
because peace
dwells within them.

The One who is
sends word
and the world responds.

Snow falls
like silent permission.
Frost settles
like breath
on cold glass.

Ice spreads
with precision.
Then a word—
and it melts.
The wind moves—
and the world softens.

This rhythm
was made known
to those who listened.
It was not given
to all.
It was offered
to the open.

Praise
what is real.

Praise rises

from the highest points—
from light itself,
from the quiet expanse.

Praise rises
from beyond the sky,
from where sound
has no name.

Sun and moon
offer their rhythm.
Stars shine
in silent chorus.

Galaxies,
cosmic rivers,
unseen currents—
all give voice.

Let them all praise
what called them
into being—
for they were spoken,
and they remained.

They were held
in orbit,
placed with purpose.

Let praise rise
from below—
from oceans
that churn,
from fire
and fog,
from snowflakes
and storm winds
that move
at the whisper
of command.

From mountains
and rolling hills,
trees rooted deep,
fruitful and wild.

From creatures
that leap and crawl,
from winged ones
cutting the sky.

From those
who hold power,
and those
who’ve been cast aside.

From every voice,
every age—
let breath
become blessing.

Let all
praise the one
whose name
outlives time,
whose presence
is beyond reach
yet deeply near.

This name
stands alone.
This glory
fills earth and sky.

What is real
lifts the low
and binds them
to presence.

This is the joy
of those awake—
of all
who dwell close.

Let them
praise.

Sing a new song—

not out of habit,
but out of becoming.

Let the gathered ones
rejoice in their being.
Let those who dwell
in presence
celebrate their name.

Let them dance—
not for performance,
but for joy.
Let them make music
with rhythm and breath.

For the presence
delights
in the small,
adorns the bent
with light.

Let the faithful
exult in stillness.
Let their voices
rise in the dark.

Let truth
be their blade,
and love
their defense—
a double-edged radiance
in their hands.

To disrupt what is false,
to unseat
what oppresses,
to silence
the mouth of pride,
to write justice
into the bones
of the world.

This honor
belongs
to those who walk
in truth.

Let them praise—
with motion,
with silence,
with fire.

Praise the presence

in every place
it dwells—
in the sanctuary,
in the sky,
in the cells
of the living.

Praise for the unseen
and the seen—
for the mighty acts
and the quiet mercies.

Praise with the sound
of the trumpet.
Praise with strings
and waves
of vibration.

Praise with rhythm—
with hand-drum
and heartbeat.

Praise with movement—
feet lifted in joy,
limbs unfolding
into light.

Praise with cymbals
that crash like clarity.
Praise with sound
that shatters silence.

Let everything
that holds breath—
everything
that pulses,
everything
that longs—

praise.