The roads began with quiet grace, a dark dawn in a small space.
We crossed through storms, through endless fights, the map was ash, the stars our light,
But the winds blew through, with the greatest might.
Each step, a bargain, with a cost, a trail of victories, built from loss.
And, oh so lost.
Yet in the dust, where sorrow stood, I learned the worth of pain and good.
And when the night is cold and wide, it reminds me of my stride.
Now, evening folds the sky in red, and I walk where others fled.
For the journey bleeds, yet it proves,
Broken paths are what we choose.
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