Springing from my bed,
I scream in strained silence in the oily black house, nerves taut
like the strings on my guitar— fearful of what might be, dreading what might be happening to my body, happening to me.
I’m not ready to be old;
I’m less ready to die.
Out my Jersey window,
the rain swarms like fire bugs
in the light from the vague street lamp in the slate-gray New Jersey sky.
I listen to the whine of tires on the slick, wet roads.
I hear the rain, now,
pounding on my roof and walls,
now streaming down the window panes like tiny flash floods.
My mind whirls from lack of sleep,
and I wonder, half-aloud,
How many sunrises do I have left?
The day sweeps by in fits and naps,
and all too soon
it’s late at night again, alone.
I seek solace in my books of poetry
and the manuscripts of my own precious poems,
caught up in my too-short life
like a fever.
I pace the floors,
wander into the bedroom,
smile down at my sleeping wife,
her face silver in the wan moonlight, linger awhile,
and wander barefoot through
the empty house,
eating a bowl of ice cream as I go.
And I hear the wind come up,
lashing through trees and flowers,
pressing on the house itself—
the rain again, the endless rain.
Again, without sound or words, I scream.
A little bit of what having bipolar is all about.
Contributed by Wayne Thomas, 2008
All green links on this page are off-site links from sponsors and funds are used to support the non-profit activities of the AYCNP
These are a few of Wayne Thomas' other poems, also from Dawn of a New Discovery.
Seven Moon Haikus
Soft, the lights of town—
blue misty watercolor
bathes in the moonlight
flock of moonbeams,
bright feathering through the bean vines—
Hot August moonlight—
sunflowers wilting of thirst
while clouds hide the stars
Cloudy August night
hazy moon in my eyepiece
a glimpse of Pico
like a torch hovers over the village—
no breeze to push it
Handful of moonbeams,
soft against Dad’s easy chair,
run through my fingers.
Through a young girl’s hair
a shaft of yellow moonlight
waiting for the dawn
Moon Haikus by Wayne Thomas
Haikus are of Japanese origin. In the original language, they were three lines and 17-syllable non-rhyming poems, with a rhythm of 5/7/5 syllables. When written in English, they don’t strictly adhere to that format, but do follow the same basic pattern. (Dawn world poetry book)
If you have strong emotions that need an outlet, try a little poetry. Poetry can be an emotional healing, a catharsis and a way to express yourself creatively. If you have a message for others to hear, it can be a useful way of communicating.
Pages Related to Bipolar Disorder Poem
Poetry Therapy and Coping with Depression
, by Sherry Reiter, PhD, Registered Poetry Therapist
National Association for Poetry Therapy (off-site)
Self Help Bipolar Disorder
Dealing with Bipolar Disorder
: Self Monitoring for Relapse Prevention
Help for Bipolar Disorder
Self Help Writing
for Mental Health Self Help
Bipolar Disorder Overdiagnosed
Bipolar Disorder Treatment - Children and Teens
Bipolar Disorder - Antidepressants
Bipolar Disorder and Music
- Main page
Bipolar Disorder Drug Treatment