I’m lost but,
Not looking for direction.
Knowing a door will open,
A path become clear.
A word will be spoken,
To rest on my ear.

Life is predestined,
To be all that it can.
For our part we must,
Grasp each opportunity,
Lest it pass through our fingers.

Recurring doors,
Become familiar.
Paths where our feet,
Have since trod.
A reassuring compass,
Guiding our path.

The more we rest,
The more distance we cover.
Take shelter,
Under the shadow of his wings.
Listen to the heartbeat of,
The creator of the universe.


John Pearson
Middlesbrough 1
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