Step 9 Poem

Step 9: the edge begins to blur,  

A silent rush, a primal stir.  

No maps remain, no rules apply—  

It’s you, the sky, and how you fly.  

Step 9: the storm no longer roars,  

It dances now through open doors.  

You greet the chaos not with fear,  

But with a grin, both wide and clear.  

Step 9: the rhythm breaks and bends,  

Yet still, the journey never ends.  

For wildness isn’t just the fall—  

It’s rising, too, when you risk all.