There was once a poet,
renowned and celebrated far and wide,
through towns of poverty,
or countries divine.
Everyone had heard this poet’s song,
yet his voice had yet to speak
with the passion he longs.
See, the poet had lost his spark—
no more colors bright and true.
His only flames burnt out,
as his words subdued.
The poet ran.
He ran, ran, ran, and ran.
He hurled past trees and oceans,
past birds and fields of glowing flowers.
When he looked at this nature—
the beauty he once saw
so brightly, so vividly—
was no more.
He couldn’t find that spark,
that flame that made the candle burn,
that made the ink flow.
It was dark.
One day, while traversing
through rugged broken ground—
dead trees, burnt grass,
no smell of nature, no life, no air,
not a thing left
in the distance nor in the poet—
he suddenly felt a chill.
A chill was something this poet had not felt in years,
not even from the cold.
The poet ran.
He ran, ran, ran, and ran.
He stopped.
He took a breath—
and suddenly, he could breathe once more.
Suddenly, the life
that had been so horribly broken,
sucked out of his soul,
leaving him in misery—
the life that had been destroyed and shattered,
so the poet thought—
returned.
Suddenly, his surroundings felt alive again,
he could see, he could breathe.
He saw the glimmering ocean
off the rocky cliff he realized he’d climbed,
he saw the sun shining through the trees
in intricate patterns of light.
He smelled the flowers and the air,
he smelled the waves of the salty blue sea.
He saw a glow.
A glow of so many colors
that had left his head,
that had now been poured back in
with the same vividness and warmth
as it had all those years ago.
The poet stepped towards this light
and discovered a flower—
a flower no other could compare to.
A flower in which the sun, moon, and stars
all shone so brightly.
A flower in which energy
traveled through its veins.
An ethereal beauty,
with a scent so nostalgic and pure.
The poet could see beauty
in things he had not before.
He wondered what this flower was,
he wondered what made it shine so much more.
Suddenly, with a gust of wind,
the poet knew—
a lavender
is what had blossomed through.
The dry, dead grass and trees
suddenly sparked with a new flame.
The poet’s soul, once shattered,
now reborn anew.
The world, once dull and lifeless,
now vibrant and alive.
With hues of purples and blues,
yet an aura with so many more colors,
so vivid and vibrant and true.
Suddenly, there was beauty even in silence.Suddenly, the poet knew—
when that lavender shall pass,
a new one just like it shall bloom.
Author’s Note:
The thing that inspired me to write this piece is a journey of loss and rediscovery. A few years back I didn’t know who I was, who I was supposed to be and I still am not 100% sure but through meeting friends and people I care deeply for I finally found my spark. A spark I thought that I lost when I was younger, and now I feel like I can understand who I am. That is the journey I wish to embody, a journey of losing yourself and then relearning who you are, and who you WANT to be.
Shivnoor Gill | 14 | Bakersfield, CA | @https.st4rgaze on TikTok
