Long Manic depression Poems
Long Manic depression Poems. Below are the most popular long Manic depression by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Manic depression poems by poem length and keyword.
“Fear whispers worry into your ear, anxiety into your hopes and doubt into your faith… Love whispers hope and peace” – by poet
With a brain washed pale
By voices thundering
Silent screams echoing through me
Clearing away the debris
Of disappointment and disillusionment
My mind darkened on a clear night
No stars twinkled through my thoughts
And the blaze of my heart
Was smothered beneath the darkness
That was like a consuming fire
Shooting flames through my mind
Resonating fear and doubt
Clouding my soul with black suspicion
Breaking away all the hope and faith
Pouring disgust through my veins
Marking the way for desolation
Despair and waves of guilt
That sauntered across my emotions
Coloring me in hues of gray
Bipolar disorder screamed
Beneath a mask of whispers
And I cried – tears of desperation
Tears that flowed out of me
Relentless, unceasingly
And I prayed for peace
That only God could bring to me
Philippians 4:7 (King James Version) And the peace of God, which passeth all understanding, shall keep your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus.
March 23, 2021
The gentle giant
Towered above his friends
Six foot four, mammoth
His size lost on the truth
Of his kindness
He was mild and tender
Like the elephant
His spirit whispered
Instead of screaming
He was mellow
Like serenity, soothing
Michael, named for an angel
He was wise and strong
Laughing instead of crying
When the truth was
He could feel the tears
He was bleeding grief
That left him weak and forlorn
Poignant thoughts plagued him
Never allowing him to know
The peace that flowed freely
Inside the rest of our souls
The gentle giant
Lost in a raging war
With the bottle
The one who owned his hope
And colored his thoughts
In black cold dread
Darkness that stormed
Inside of his head
Leaving him lonely and sad
Like the living dead
There would be years of fighting
His head and heart were at war
With his need for a taste of the dark
Collected in his thoughts, his heart
Where there would be self-destruct
Claiming his joy and happiness
Feeding the flames of ungratefulness
Darkening the way toward grace
Where he could have found his way
The gentle giant knew grief
Like a friend it flowed through his veins
Leaving him lost in his need
For a drink that calmed his misery
Left him feeling some better
Until the end when it left him
Without the ability to breath
Death came without even a promise
For relief from the putrid darkness
That colored his world in dread
That promised to live inside his head
Until the end when he left us
Wishing we’d known the cure for him
The one who fell under the spell
Of 80 proof respite from the soul
Who knew sorrows beyond reason
Regrets that would leave him
Behind bars created by the prison
Built on a superficial feeling
It was only when I saw him in his coffin
That I knew he’d finally found freedom
From the darkness that only the drinking
Had helped to dispel his manic-depression
Heartbroken, I fall to my knees
As I see that freedom sometimes means
Leaving behind those who believe
In your heart, your spirit, your soul
The you who they know is made up of love
H Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
September 5, 2021
The word bipolar can put fear in your heart
Because you’ll never know when it will start.
Also known as manic depression and it can become
A lifelong obsession.
Wondering when the next bout of fear will enter you
And if you know just what to do.
It is like the devil trying to take your soul
And it becomes a battle of control.
Most times in order for you to live
You must take the meds that they give.
If your child is bipolar or autistic, will you love them any less?
I don’t think so is my guess!
The LORD puts a child where he / she belongs
With a person he knows is strong.
The strength of the parents helps them to cope
With the problems old and new, and that is
Something that they do.
Let us be a little realistic, not many crimes
Are committed by bipolar or autistic
So how can they use words like crazy, retarted or handicapped
When against us the cards are stacked,
When this becomes a challenge close to home
Remember that you’re not alone.
Sleep escaped,
Without a farewell,
She had not the grace
To aspire my light,
She proved to be darker
Than her gaze,
Glaring, glowering,
Glowing with madness,
Bipolar’s destroyer – two sides of the coin
Despair, dread, doubt – depression
Delight, elation, wired – manic
Stages of dark and light,
Day and night,
A breath, a prayer, a silence
Flooded with fire –
Cold, brilliant desire….
Where she kindles a flame,
A feeling, a flavor
Peppered with light,
But pouring out – fight or flight,
Willing the spirit to mute
What is a glorious ruse.
Nadir deceptions in the form
Of acceptance, darkness and light,
Fading into day, then night,
Manic depression – bipolar like
The questions
That come to life
When there is no prescription,
Killing the sparklers
Within my mind, within my brain
Where bipolar is made
From two pieces of a maze,
A labyrinth who prays,
For God’s healing touch,
His endless grace,
Overflowing my cup, bringing
The chance to wake up
From the sleeplessness that pursues
Enemy of His truth,
Insomnia, the ruse!
Two sides
Double life
In her head, how can she decide.
The happiness of the day,
The mournfulness of the night.
With the sun she rises like lilies in spring time,
Until the sunset, death steals away her joy,
Bringing nothing but the pain she endured throughout
Her short life. It devours her soul.
She cries for help, trying to explain.
The so called loved ones just cover up,
Instead of trying to heal that pain.
Is it her fault?
Straight out of the womb;
Was this to be her everlasting curse?
Or is there a cure for this illness?
She wonders why people won’t love her.
Her…for…her.
All she wants in this life, to be normal.
No pills forced down her throat,
No more tears
No more aggressive tones
Normal life is all she wants.
So she prays,
“Dear Lord,
My life, my soul,
I hope you take.”
In a day when mental illness
was hidden behind a closed door,
A young girl lived but wished to die;
she couldn't take it anymore.
No one knew the pain she suffered;
always wondering how it would end.
Would God see her great distress
and take her to Him; this hell transcend?
Her own father was the madman,
however normal he would seem.
Sometimes he lost the softness
and, from within, came a demon's scream.
Wild and void of all emotion,
his eyes unfocused and confused;
he beat his daughter almost senseless,
for what she never was accused.
Her mother made up some transgression
to have her daughter pay the price
for being closest to her father
whenever he was lucid and nice.
She loved her father dearly
and could never understand
why he turned on her so suddenly
as if, programmed to raise his hand.
One day her father, in a frenzy,
beat her head against the wall.
She just went limp in his arms;
gave up the fight to survive at all.
The words she remembers shouting
as she began to slip away:
"Go ahead and kill me!
I don't want to live this way."
His mouth dropped open as he
came to, almost as if to awaken.
He charged out of the room,
the both of them clearly shaken.
He never touched anyone again.
Perhaps, he learned a lesson.
His strange behavior was explained years later.
He suffered from manic depression.
Today we recognize the symptoms
and treat it with a special drug.
No longer should mental illness
be swept beneath a dirty rug.
As an adult, the girl is compelled
to do what she knows is right:
to bring a painful childhood memory
from darkness into healing light.
January 10, 2018
Screams of doubt, sorrow
Clouds of unrest, anxiety, darkness
Torturing my soul, my dreams
Gone to a place, unknown
In the center of this horror
There were hallucinations
Illusions within the nightmare
Of this shadowed room
In the center of my feelings
War was raging within me
Cries of guilt and grief
Destroying my inner peace
Reminding me that I am weak
Like a falling autumn leaf
Nearing the end of my season
These are the moments
Glued on my memory
Wicked delusions and anguish
Spoiling my heart’s hope
Ending the sparkle of light
This is the time, the dark night
Of the soul, the dread
Attacking my serenity, my belief
With haunted traumas
Worrying, agonizing torment
In the midnight hour
Just beyond the pain
I found the agonizing fears
From failures, flaws
Feelings that are outrageous
His light, finally
Illuminated my heart
Filling up my soul with joy
My thoughts with promises
My spirit with kindness
Finally, His unconditional
Love brought me grace
Penetrating faith and thanks
For all the wonder of His ways
Assuring me that I can make it
His love, through divine intervention,
Colored my whole world
In whispers of quiet thanksgiving
Prayers of peace and tranquility
His word fills my heart, intimately
Without Him, my mind would still be
Clinging to anxiety and worry
Pain and sorrow, all the darkness
That comes from being the victim of
Manic depression, bipolar’s casualty
Musicianship
(3 May 2014; For my son Steven, an ACCOMPLISHED guitarist)
Real musicianship can truly drive you nuts—
There really are no “ifs”, “ands”, or “buts”.
Practice, study, memorize, then more practice--
Is this just an obsession or complete madness?
Learning chord inversions, arpeggios, and scales
Is like reaching Heaven by crossing through seven Hells.
It wouldn’t be bad if there were only a dozen majors,
But there’s also those other dozen minors.
What’s worse, it seems we’re never finished
Because there’s also augmented and diminished,
The major/minor/augmented/dominant sevenths.
And symmetrical double-flatted diminished sevenths,
And if this harmonic mess is not enough,
All those dissonant Jazz chords get really tough…
Such as the sustained seconds and fourths,
The sevenths add nines, sixths, blah-blah-blah, elevenths.
And if learning all this isn’t already extraordinary,
There’s music theory and music vocabulary.
Instead of just saying “get louder”, you have to “crescendo”,
Or for “fast” or “slow” you say “allegro” or “lento”.
Then there are names like Ionian, Dorian, Phrygian,
Lydian, Mixolydian, Aeolian, and Locrian.
(All being modes derived from scale C-major,
Plus each major scale also has a relative minor)
Multiple pattern exercises on guitar fretboards
Are even worse than finger drills on piano keyboards.
Worse, the string tuning on a six-string acoustic guitar
Is not quite the same as on a 4/5/6/7-string bass guitar.
It’s hard to get up on stage and routinely play
That same song, for the umpteenth time, in an inspiring way.
No wonder musicians seem to all suffer manic-depression,
From trying to play a full sets with unique expression.
All the advances in music equipment and technology
Bless and curse musicians like two-edged swords, you see,
Because all this work they do to sound like a maestro or genius
Can be counterfeited on a computer by a musical ignoramus.
But computer geeks won’t ever find that special place,
That fugue-like subtle sacred state of grace,
Which for brief moments is like deep meditation.
No, that’s the forbidden domain of the real musician.
To suggest that musicians all are just “gifted” naturally,
Is the absolute superlative worst insulting irony.
Truly, real musicianship can drive you nuts—
No, there really are no “ifs”, “ands”, or “buts”.
When Patty was in the manic phase, she'd ignore dangers:
She'd hold parties in her motel room for hordes of strangers.
One of them she married after knowing him half a day -
Did it occur that something could go wrong by acting that way?
Who needs the wisdom of George Schwab, or boring investment schemes?
She met two dudes in a parking lot, trusted their get-rich dreams.
What could be wrong with giving strangers chances?
Predictably things went wrong when they managed her finances.
[chorus]
The question arises, how do we know?
Which feeling is right - the high or the low?
Do thoughts determine what we feel?
Or do feelings determine what we take as real?
Carrie was bipolar too, wrote a book on crazy acts
Her daily moods were divorced from daily facts
She used illegal drugs to tame the unruly ocean -
Yet she took a wild ride on a bronco of emotion
It was found for depressives the windshield is more clear
Rewards motivate them less; risks spark the proper fear.
But gazing at the downside leads to helpless despair
When reality gazes back, it has an unblinking stare.
Halsey had a million ideas and couldn’t get them done:
But when she was manic, she had the most fun
She says it gave her all she has; she made her best art
Her album named "Manic" rose to two on the chart.
Kanye, in his manic state, paranoia gripped his heart,
He feared the eyes of hidden spies, his world set apart.
This was knowledge he got from what he would feel
Between feeling and knowing, who can trust what is real?
[chorus]
The question arises, how do we know?
Which feeling is right - the high or the low?
Should we withdraw, should we take the fling?
Or flatten out the waves of the mood swing?
[outro]
Does what you feel guide your reason
Is trusting emotions akin to treason?
Can you disentangle thought and feeling
Sink below the floor, or rise above the ceiling?
Oh, the enigmatic dance of life we tread,
Which feeling is right— the elation or the dread?