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!
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