When sick with gloom and wrenching pain,
You must login to vote
I all alone bemoaned my state
like one that had slid back again
into despair which damned my fate.
Disconsolate beyond midnight,
I troubled dear God with my cries
as I bore this bipolar plight
with burning, red, tear-laden eyes.
The night was long—I was distraught;
I longed for rest, to help forget
this sorrow's hold that's got me caught—
like victims of a crashing jet!
But I did find solace in this—
my family and friends did care;
and if I died I would be missed:
so I endured the Deep Despair.
But then sleep came. And I had peace.
In the morn, I woke to arising—
Joy broke in and gave me new lease:
and thus my life I ceased despising!
"To have the soul of a poet is to feel with the mind, and to think with the heart."