We long for unity & harmony, Yet starve the roots of trust, the seed that must be sown. Trust is the broken vessel, spilling fragrance for the weak; Pride is the bolted door, silencing the truth we seek.

We fear the social sting, the lash of public shame; We trade our inner fire for a cold and hollow name. May we de-link the friction to let the insight rise; May we re-link the person with compassion in our eyes.

Ask of the hidden wound, the story in the clay, Lest we pass like Levites, turning healing hearts away. Mine for the sacred conflict, where the gold is purified; Flee from false accordance, where the bitter spirits hide.

Trust is the Father’s welcome—the grace to fail and stand.