Nephesh Psalm

I

Oh, how nephesh longs for the river of grace,

Going down in the flow, cleansing, reviving my place.

I ought to know my life will not end in strife,

Yet it will be made whole in eternal life.

Oh, my nephesh cries out!

II

These words pour forth, a vessel, this poem.

It wanders and roams—yet my nephesh is known.

Crimson covering, creation redeemed at the cross.

The waves still toss, yet blood restores my nephesh’s loss.

Oh, my nephesh cries out!

III

The One who knit and wove my flesh, this nephesh,

Gave me purpose rising, breaking the surface.

Many makers mill my mind, a surplus of chime,

Yet His purpose alone aligns my life.

Oh, my nephesh cries out!

IV

In a clamor, my vessel stamors,

As words fill the rim; they cannot be held within.

A witness, an eye, a story of sorrow, yet triumph.

Scars and lines define my nephesh,

Confessed in this vessel of my being.

Oh, my nephesh cries out!

V

Each scar is a post, pointing through despair,

Yet proof that my nephesh still breathes prayer.

But the Man on the cross gives me no loss—

He is the reason, through every season, to stay.

Oh, my nephesh cries out!

VI

He molds me like clay, shaping His vessel each day.

So my nephesh cries out, and I learn to obey.

I drown myself in the river of grace,

My nephesh a vessel, overflowing with praise.

Oh, my nephesh cries out!