Sing a new song to the Lord for he has worked wonders.
His right hand and his holy arm have brought salvation.
We hope and pray he will resolve all our blunders.
His voice will carry to every nation.

I was dreaming something virtuous, a true industrious worker bee.
Then my thoughts descended into pain.
I pictured our mental gaze as a many branched tree.
Thoughts can wander off into regret wherever they can find some stain.

Or our initial benign thought is like our wrist.
In a moment it can travel down any of our five fingers in any direction.
But as pain engulfs us we can order it to desist.
Wrenching it back to benign love despite our dark side’s objection.

Did the saints have to struggle so.
Did they like us start every day anew rising then laid low.

Haiku

Did saints struggle so
Start every day anew rise
Then laid low again