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When sick with gloom and wrenching pain,
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."

--Ngoc Nguyen




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by Apple





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