The Blessed Traveler

In the heart of London, 

where the grey clouds hang low, 

and the rush of feet 

echoes like thunder, 

I find myself 

lost in the current, 

a tide pulling me under. 

Eyes darting, 

breath caught in a snare, 

the buildings loom large, 

imposing, unyielding — 

a city of strangers 

pressing close, 

each face a mask 

of hurried resolve. 

I clutch my heart, 

a storm building within, 

the world spinning out 

as I search for a hand  

that isn’t there, 

until a whisper rises, 

gentle as morning light. 

“Take a breath,” 

like soft rain on parched earth, 

and there, in the chaotic swirl, 

I feel a presence, 

warm and unwavering, 

an anchor amid the chaos, 

a calm in the whirlwind. 

Jesus walks beside me, 

familiar and wise, 

His footsteps in the cacophony, 

a melody of hope, 

as I’m reminded: 

this moment is fleeting, 

the pulse of the city 

is just one heartbeat among many. 

I close my eyes, 

and in that darkness, 

I hear the truth — 

that panic and fear 

are mere apparitions, 

waving from the edges, 

while faith holds fast, 

a lighthouse in the fog. 

So, I take a step forward, 

the pavement beneath my feet, 

resilient as my spirit, 

the city embraces me, 

and with each breath, 

I walk with Jesus, 

through this bustling street, 

no longer afraid, 

but alive in His presence, 

a soul unbound.