Freedom is a wildfire racing through the corridors confined,
Consuming what once held us, leaving fertile ash behind.
But what is freedom—just the blaze that breaks us free,
Or the tender shoot that rises toward what yet may be?

It is not the freedom to wound, nor the right to turn away,
Nor the chase of false dreams guiding us to stray.
Freedom is not chaos, nor comfort of the known,
But the quiet resolve to walk a path alone.

To be unbound is not to drift on tides with no return,
Nor to cast away the lessons we still must learn.
True freedom moves with wisdom’s silent, steady hand,
And anchors us with purpose in life’s ever-shifting sand.

We seek it in stillness, in the wild and boundless air,
In the boldness to speak and the grace to truly care.
Yet freedom is not captured in the boldest, bravest cry,
But in the steady flame that burns and will not die.

It is not the absence of every constraint,
Nor the mask of perfection, nor the pose of a saint.
Freedom is the wisdom to bend when the world demands,
And the purpose to hold firm when storms assail where we stand.

Some believe freedom is the right to roam as we please,
But wisdom knows it is more than a life lived in ease.
It is the burden of choosing, the shaping of soul,
The fire that tempers us, forging the whole.

Freedom is not granted, nor swiftly attained,
But the work of a lifetime, endlessly sustained.
It’s the courage to question, the honor to forgive,
The valor to transform, the will to truly live.

It is not a treasure claimed by sword or decree,
But a journey inward, unfolding quietly.
To be free is to walk with both shadow and light,
To embrace the uncertain, and draw strength from the fight.

Let us hold freedom close when the world turns cold,
A beacon of hope more precious than gold.
For though shadows may gather and silence may fall,
Freedom still rises—the fiercest flame of all.