First a Bipolar Night, Then a Joyful Morn

When full of gloom and full of pain, I all alone bemoan my state like one that has slid back again into despair which I most hate. Despondent into the midnight, I trouble dear God with my cries as I suffer this bipolar plight with burning, red, tear-laden eyes. The night is long—I am distraught; I yearn for rest, to help forget this melancholy that's like rot— like Death and I first ever met! But I do find solace in this— my family and friends do care: and if I die I will be missed. So I endure the great despair. But then sleep comes. And I know peace. In the morn, I wake to arising— Joy breaks in and gives me new lease: and myself I break from despising!