From screens and city sounds, I let the static fade,
The wild calls out beyond the glass, where no device has played.
Asphalt veins inscribe the map, yet freedom evades the grid,
Where roots reclaim the fractured stone and sky is never hid.

Each step’s a swipe at boundaries, a scroll through living green,
The signal drops, yet spirit soars where few have ever been.
We’re told to optimize and grind, to chase some fleeting goal,
But wildness is the ancient code that reboots every soul.

I walk to leave the wired world behind, to log out and begin
A pilgrimage through tangled trails, unplugged from noise within.
No wealth can buy the hours I need to wander and to stray,
It takes a fearless heart to dream—and let the frantic world decay.

Let others tally likes and shares, confined by curated feeds,
I’ll chase solitude where twilight falls and wildness meets my needs.
For “all good things are wild and free”—the old words still ring true!—
In swamps or city parks alike, our restless hearts renew.

We saunter toward a future not yet surveyed and mapped,
A state of mind, a way to be, unbound, never to be trapped.
The world is more than data points, or boundaries on a chart,
The wild remains the source code deep within the human heart.

To walk is to recall the world was never made to be for sale—
We’re woven from the living earth, not masters ordained to prevail.
The wild sustains what’s true and whole in tangled, sacred space;
There, marrow-deep, our lives renew—we glimpse our truest place.

So let me walk where sunlight falls on grass that’s never shorn,
Where every hour is born anew, and every soul reborn.
Not heaven above, but earth beneath, holds all we seek and dread—
Those who walk with open eyes find spirit’s path ahead.

Let others chase their measured days and fear the forest’s call—
I’ll walk into the wilderness, and there become my all.
For in the wild, the mind expands, the heart is rendered whole,
And every step I take alone forges freedom in my soul.

But as I walk, the silence grows—no birdsong in the air,
The ancient web, unraveled now, hangs tattered in despair.
We cut the branch on which we stand, blind to the gathering dust,
And in the end, extinction’s hand will close on all of us.