Bipolar. Two polarities. Manic and depressed. And the wonderful state that lies between known as hypomania.
After suffering many months of depression with suicidal lows, I have slowly begun the assent in “normalacy”. And poets are allowed to make words up. The Bard made all kinds of words that are now in our everyday lexicon. But I digress. Now it appears that I am sliding, ever so gently, into hypomania. And though I SHOULD be concerned, I’m not.
It’s hard to think something’s wrong when you can see colour. When you find yourself smiling for no other reason than your soul wants to. To feel too warm or too cold and care about you feel. (Unfortunately my last set of blood work showed my lithium below therapeutic levels, so I can’t really hope my brain is functioning as it should).
I find my writing reflecting this current mood. Enjoy.
The Fire burns deep in the soul
Awakened as ne’er before
Eyes a-light with unholy embers
As passions unknown
Speak out enticing
Wild untamed adventures
To heights unimaginable
Spurring to go
Further than e’er before
Consequence be damned
To live out the Heart’s Song
At the whim of this