𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐎𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐖𝐚𝐲

You walk the well-worn roads of doubt, the maps of many minds,
Where signposts point to distant lights that leave you still behind.
You feel the hollow in the chest, the question in the night,
The aching for a solid shore, a fixed and certain light.

The world says, "Here are many paths that climb the sacred height."
But your soul, tired of echoes, knows there is no borrowed light.
And in the gathering, lonely dark, a whisper, soft and deep,
Begins to stir the silent air from promises God keeps.

"𝑰 𝒂𝒎 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑾𝒂𝒚," the Voice declares, when all your roads are lost,
When you have counted every star and learned the final cost.
Not just a prophet pointing on, a sage who shows the trail,
But the Road itself, the solid ground where even doubt grows pale.

"𝑰 𝒂𝒎 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑻𝒓𝒖𝒕𝒉," He speaks to you, not just a fact to know,
But substance for your hollow heart, where living waters flow.
Not just a system, dry and cold, a doctrine to be learned,
But Truth with scars upon His hands, for whom your soul has yearned.

"𝑰 𝒂𝒎 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑳𝒊𝒇𝒆," the words break through the shroud of dust and death,
He is the breath within your breast, the dawn in every breath.
No mere existence, stretched and thin, but life that cannot cease,
The Vine that holds the trembling branch in everlasting peace.

And then He turns His gaze to you, and says what stills the storm,
"𝑵𝒐 𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒔 𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑭𝒂𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓, 𝒄𝒉𝒊𝒍𝒅, 𝒆𝒙𝒄𝒆𝒑𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉 𝑴𝒆, 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒎."
This is the heart, the stunning grace, not narrowing, but clear,
He is the Door swung open wide to bring the distant near.

So let the other voices fade, the thousand ways grow dim.
Come, rest upon this one sure thing; you need only come to Him.
For in this Man, this God, this Word, the path, the truth, the breath,
Lies all the journey home to God, who conquers life and death.