the past is like shackles
I could break free
but I'm too afraid that
my future is not what I dream
so I'm better off in prison

I'm living inside the box mine
Books were scattered, my pen runs out
The winds were calling me to come
Whisper into my ears, the light is near

But, the wise old man said
Seeking for answers is unending tunnel
You might see a glimpse of fickle
it's still not the end

Sitting under the oak tree
Dusk until dawn unravel the mystery
I saw an owl, it guides me on my way
I'm not blinded but unable to see

we're all just broken people telling others how to heal their brokenness, while ignoring our very own advice.

But where?

And to whom?