Step 3 Poem

Step 3: the echoes start to fade,  

The past no longer holds the blade.  

You walk with rhythm, not with rush,  

The fear once loud now speaks in hush.  

Step 3: the path begins to bend,  

You meet yourself around the end.  

The sky, once distant, drops a hue—  

The quiet promise: something new.  

Step 3: a turning of the tide,  

No map, no guide—just strength inside.  

You do not need to see the shore,  

To know you're not the same as before.