The world is a book,
We were never meant to settle in a cage.
Each path we choose scripts a new phrase,
A journey that outlives every page.

The wind carries stories we haven’t heard,
Carved into mountains, whispered through trees.
The stars don’t wait for comfort zones,
They rise for those who chase the breeze.

We were born to wander, built for awe,
To lose our names and find our truth.
Not everything broken needs repair,
Some things just shift beneath our youth.

This world was never ours to tame,
Just pages we’re blessed to turn with grace.
We write in footprints, not in ink,
And leave our stories in their place.

The Blunt Siren