Kings Cross, where city lights ignite,
Once home to wild and painted dreams,
Now whispers songs through neon gleams,
A vibrant pulse in fading night.

Two paths divide the busy street:
One flashes bright with coins and fire,
A burning urge, a strong desire,
Where eager hurried footsteps meet.

The other, dim and hushed and low,
Where weary faces find their space,
To shed their burdens, slow their pace,
And let their heavier feelings go.

That quiet, second road I chose,
Away from glitter, loud and bold,
A different story to unfold,
Where inner stillness gently grows.

Then from the corner's deepest shade,
A whisper breathed my very name:
"Why did your spirit shun my claim?
Why did your heart become unswayed?"

My voice, a fragile, trembling sound,
Replied, "My Lord put a small light there.
No grand display, no worldly share,
That inner gleam helps me feel sound."

The shadow asked again, with sigh,
"Then tell me, why are you still here?"

I answered, "Just to make it clear,
To check my path against the sky."

The shadow wept, a gentle plea,
Then whispered soft, "You walk the truth,"
And vanished from my gaze, forsooth,
Leaving the quiet night to me.

Yet fear still tapped within my chest,
As I turned from that tempting lane,
And walked where peace begins again,
Towards a path of certain rest.

For those whose faith holds strong and true,
The gifts the Lord has given free,
Already calm the heart, you see,
For this brief life, fresh and new.