The young souls of old

To you, the wanderer among polished streets and neon,

Whose soul remains a relic of ancient echoes,

I speak as one who has walked the rugged paths

Where the earth itself groaned beneath the weight of dreams.

You, whose heart beats with the staccato rhythm of untamed lands,

Are a fierce ember from a fire long set to rest,

Borne into a world of glass and steel, a stranger

In a metropolis of fleeting glimmers and hollowed whispers.

In your eyes, the tempest of storm-tossed skies,

In your breath, the musk of forests long forgotten,

You carry within you the raw essence of the old frontiers,

An untamed vigor that dances with the ghosts of pioneers.

Each step you take, each word you utter,

Is like the crackle of a campfire against the cold vastness,

A reminder that beneath the veneer of progress and polish,

The soil still remembers the scent of wildness, of unbridled truth.

Your spirit, a wild stallion reined too tightly,

Longs to gallop across plains of untamed beauty,

To carve out from the granite of modernity

The rich veins of history, the rustle of ancient tales.

You are the vessel for the old songs, for the stories

Etched in the bark of forgotten trees and the lines of weathered maps,

A voice that calls to those who have lost the thread

Of the wild, unchained life that once roared across this land.

Hold fast to this ancient fire, this unruly grace,

For in your being is the bridge to the past,

The keeper of songs that speak of earth's raw grandeur,

Of lives lived in defiance of polished ease.

Though you tread amidst skyscrapers and synthetic dreams,

Know that you are the echo of a world beyond,

The wild soul in the midst of steel, the eternal flame

That refuses to be dimmed by the shine of the new.