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Sunday, 12 March 2017

Having Bipolar

The time of day ticks by slowly, drawing in the night,
And under cover is a brightness plight,
As I am lethargic and restless -
Superficially painless.

My smiles and cheeriness fade into a space,
Where loneliness picks up its pace,
To draw on my intellect,
With a mind to dissect.

I am twisted in two, this way or that way,
Indecisive affray to play or decay,
And as I rot in thoughtfulness,
In comes the darkness.

I have to look before I leap, and under the sheet
I sleep, and bleat and bleat and bleat,
And as the hours are stolen away,
I live to fight another day.

© Andrew Stevenson 23/03/14

The Pen Is Mightier Thank The Sword

I write rather than fight, and they say ‘the pen is mightier than the sword’, and there is some truth in this, and without the fist you can express yourself diplomatically, and appropriately in accordance with a morality of sanity.

I love to love, and to love your neighbour is a Christianly value of standing, and fighting over griping is inviting trouble, when you can choose to walk away, and make a written complaint, which can resolve hostility with positivity, opposed to negativity.

© Andrew Stevenson  12/03/2017

The first poem denotes suffering with bipolar, written from a perspective of when I was ill.

Thank you. Love love, Andrew. Bye.

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