Someone once said, if you can descript chronic depression, you’ve never visited it. These poems are to illustrate a little of the complexity of thought that goes through the mind of someone with bipolar disorder.
NOT FOR ME THE SILVER TRUMPETER
Long held secrets knocking on the doors of my mind,
all grown large - unresolved.
The issues that occupy the depressive spirit,
together with string and sticky glue,
the ill-thought-of-self captured by imagined slights.
Not for me the silver trumpeter
to herald meager talents.
The will to succeed, now quiet
lLest I draw attention and envy.
Only then, I may survive in isolation.
*****
ON NIGHT-TIME’S WINGS
They come full born on night-time’s wings,
belaboured thoughts of inadequacy and pain.
Reality behind each grudging breath,
convention that demands my life continue.
What cherished dreams lie dormant
in unworthy heart?
What pleasure left to console the
troubled soul?
No trumpet to herald morning glory,
just lust abandoned
as age decays and spirit wanes.
******
IN MY HEAD
It’s in my head,
this constant bissssssssssss
prescription drugs manipulating
thoughts they’d rather I did not have.
Oh that they would see the complex
thing that is the swirls and contours
that make up the brain,
and see what chemicals
can change and what cannot.
My life is now a constant
struggle between effects
and side effects.
*********
‘SHE WHO WAITS ‘
I am she who waits
the birthing of possibilities.
I am all things, and nothing.
The image of time passing
without aid of sight.
What now with comfort I can see
the growth of death that comes upon me.
Here in time I am a prisoner of my own imagination,
the creation of my fantasy world
that far exceeds the pull of reality.
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