There’s a lion on the prowl

He’s a little odd, though

He’s handsome and hangs out where you wouldn’t expect

He often whispers, doesn’t growl

Comes at you when you’re feeling low

Or when you’re on the fence

His mane glows

Sometimes he holds suspense

In that alluring paw

Or in the cunning of his manly jaw

I’m a sheep hanging by the gate

Trying to process the words on the page

Doing my best as I wait

I hear the Shepherd’s voice

But I see the lion

The lion speaks too – things opposite of what the Shepherd speaks

I start to look at the other sheep

I see their spots

And like to think I’m unique

I overlook mine

I worry the gate won’t latch

I worry till I’m sick, I do the math

Does the Shepherd really have it together?

I meet with the Shepherd in the morning

He tells me don’t worry

About the other sheep’s spots

The gate, or even the lion

“Fix your eyes on me,” He says

“I’m the one to abide in

And then you’ll walk on the water, you’ll be at home inside the gate,

Watch as the lion abates

Don’t be afraid.”

Each morning I try to listen for the Shepherd

As I sit by the gate

I hear Him

It’s not too late

His eyes see through mine

I cleave to Him

Like a branch in a vine

Till the lion is slayed

For all eternity

The Shepherd reigns