Through the Darkest Nights
The day he turned into a ghost,
Was quiet more than what could be lost
He smiled before, so warm, so bright,
A gentle charm, a pleasing light.
But slowly then the colors drained,
The warmth grew thin, the mask unchained.
No need to prove, no urge to show,
No borrowed ways, no need to glow.
He stopped explaining what he meant,
No more defense, no argument.
He let them guess, he let them speak,
He owed no answers to the weak.
Inside, he knew a space was bare,
A silent gap still resting there.
Something missing, deep and wide,
A quiet echo he could not hide.
Yet what he gained outweighed the cost,
A truth so vast, it dwarfed the lost.
What once seemed big became so small,
A fleeting flick, no weight at all.
He found the depths no eyes could see,
The core of his identity.
Not shaped by praise, nor fear, nor role,
But carved within his very soul.
It wasn’t quick, it took its time,
Through broken thoughts and steepest climb.
Through endless nights both dark and cold,
Where doubt was loud and pain took hold.
He shed the self he once held tight,
The prized illusion, worn for sight.
Not forced away, not torn apart,
But gently seen with wiser heart.
For he alone had truly found
The self beneath the shifting ground.
And in that truth, both still and vast,
He became whole, at last, at last.