Old habits die hard, yet a flicker ignites,

A spark of hope in these cold, lonely nights.

Streets may whisper promises, temptations gleam,

But freedom's a chance to rewrite, not a broken dream.

These hands, stained with shadows, can learn a new trade

, Building futures, not leaving lives betrayed.

You say I can be the key, unlock a safer door,

My story, a beacon, warning others to explore

The brighter paths, the classrooms, not the chilling dark,

Education's a weapon, leaving its righteous mark.

Let me speak to the young, the ones I led astray,

Show them the emptiness that follows a violent day.

I'll paint a picture with words, not the fear in their eyes,

Of sirens wailing, futures lost beneath bruised skies.

Rehabilitation's a seed, needs fertile ground to take root,

Give me a chance to plant it, bear the honest fruit.

Jobs, not gangs, that's the answer, a future to hold,

Not stolen wallets, stories waiting to be told.

This second chance, a fragile thing, I'll hold it close and true,

Because a reformed soul can rewrite what others view.