Lost

At a junction looking all around
Not a sign to see
Not a soul but me
Try to listen for clues
But no sound to hear

You're in the space which lies between
The unwashed plenty and the cleansed few
The decision is yours
It's time for you to decide what to do

Calling are the pure white angels
With wings on their shoulders from high above
Their elegant flight like that of a dove

This is one of many poems I wrote over 10 years ago and have only recently come back to so thought I would share to see people's feedback as I start to get back into the swing of things. Thanks for reading.