In the mirror of his choices, he sees his own face,
No longer a pawn in this intricate race.
The roles he has taken, he wears like a cloak,
Not shackles that bind him, but armor bespoke.

He owns this journey, the paths that he treads,
Neither saint nor sinner, just the words he has said.
Good or bad for another, that’s theirs to define,
But the power he holds is solely his design.

He won’t let the titles dictate who he is,
Not a king nor a beggar, just a man with a vision.
These labels are fleeting, like whispers in air,
He breathes in the moment, letting go of the care.

What he has is temporary, a gift in disguise,
Each day a new canvas, painted with skies.
So he slows down the tempo, finds peace in the flow,
Embracing the present, wherever it goes.

No rush to abandon what life has bestowed,
He’ll walk with intention on this winding road.
He’ll savor each heartbeat, each laugh, and each sigh,
Living for now, letting time slip by.

With every decision, he carves out his way,
No chains on his spirit, just freedom to sway.
In the dance of existence, he’ll find his own song,
For he is who he chooses, and he’ll carry along.