Bipolar Disorder poems bring the best collection of short and long bipolar disorder poetry. Poems for him and her and every poetry lover. These great bipolar disorder rhymes are so amazing they will touch your heart and keep you craving for more. Hope you find your own deep meanings in these bipolar disorder poems. They are decent, rhyming, free spirited and true. Thoughts on bipolar disorder are here for you.
The problems she has are real soft fronds of fruiting vines lick up the tears from her forehead each wonders which is upside right earlier she was harried into the rental car wishing only to idle but parents have a
Bipolar Disorder is a strongly built conglomerate of depression and mania that yet fails to monopolize on the brain of it’s victim when under medication. Medication to bipolar disorder is like an audit; closely inspected, then revised when an error
Caught up in chores dreary beset with tedium mundane In a state devoid of passion caught in all trivialities inane Sapped of most evident ardor whilst trying to just sustain Endeavors notwithstanding but balance couldn’t maintain Removed from indulgences I
My mind is a place, and often I’m told Those who would venture are far more than bold Vast twisting caverns of darkness and light Thoughts in a jumble with no wrong or right Fear and disorder, perfection and truth
In the most unusual manic-panic creep, Wildly lurking behind every corner, The Shadow was about to recover some ungraspable but always constantly desired idea.. A fantasy, a darker shade of fantasy: a fun fetish. Or, perhaps, could it be foolish
The name, went begging to yield. Dispute was becoming a point of disorder. A fire on ice, I was burning inside. Unabated, the storm was raging in bush. The candor was lost. We were drying up in shade. One eccentric
Between the tremors falls the face in a glass of water. Sometimes false teeth reverberate through the pages of history; devastation sinks in. A faun rubs the landscape. Hatchlings come out when death-music stops. A miracle tends to quieten the
flirting with fire blowin it up in the most earnest desire her perfume was led to basement blues remove those shoes bask in the news then you will se a falsified game of reality in society we got hidden games
There was a time when I sat still. Soaking in unavoidable truth. Choosing instead to sit and bathe in a world of thought. The sun peeked through the window, concerned by the calmness that struck my lips. A sudden grip
Oh, to be a sad balloon… and sail the wayward wind alone To leave this troubled world behind, embark upon the vast unknown Yet somewhere.. I can hear the soulful song that loneliness intones I realize that there are things
Forged while in utero (the crucible concocting conception), the fluke of biology begat me – a happy go lucky boy, whose vulnerable uber travails susceptibly sprung sly as Tennessee Williams hip cat on a hot tin roof, where the faux
They said something was wrong with my mind Treating my “disorder” like a disease, how could they have been so blind? It was never that simple, the problem lurked deeper Never mind the blood and tears, it lay within the
Monologue of a monolith to live in a moment was futile. A young house was in disorder. Not listening, I would find the missing links. Grey ash to be smeared on forehead in horizontal lines for shifting the planets. The
It was midnight moon cruising in the bedroom. I step aside in the depressed window, watch the overwhelming spillover. I listen, then do not listen to alien voices of bipolar beings, speaking Aryan, artfully in cryptic signs crunching the bones.
I was crawling deep down the wood, Flowers of love blossomed on head, Red, yellow, blue, green leaves smile, Waiting to greet the lovely dawn for a while Looking at the bounty of burning sun Warming in his strong arms
The silent whispers by the stone grave The mobled creatures the darkness crave The fallen beauties layed down in brave The tear drops the midnight wave The lonely pathway the sand pave The horror chuckles the sound gave The gloomy
The words flow by In the endless talks In the welcoming and Ascending dusk Knocking on the Emotions binding With the words Can it connect the hearts? Stirring questions For the being Of these words Flying to and fro Did
You do not know how this feeling started, You do not know how this thing called Love acted, You do not know how my heart reacted, When I am with you, I am always melted, tongue-tied. You don’t know how
Friend of the night, come with me, The moon has closed its eyelid, The night is like the pitch; Come on sleepy streets Like coiled snakes, hibernating In the shade of houses like the crenels Of a fortress desolated by
Life is a series of relationships, Which come & go as time drips. A consolidated sequence of life is lew, But the list of happy moments are few. Living life with that only one, And not an analogy of some.
What is lost, what did we gain what was possible then what makes it impossible now answers lost in translation questions re-phrased to mean different things feelings are still the same thoughts wander off though I saw a vision and
They give him fruit He hits them with axe. They give him shade He vandalizes the rest. They purify the air For him to breathe in, He sheds their leaves Making them cry within. They give him water To quench
“To change and let change” is the only color of life. Everything seems so strange except the impeccable truth in strife. Who needs and what is needed to change”? To gear yourself up in a climate, utterly out of range.
I must be dreaming when you called my name, In sweet refrain to which nothing compares, It sounded like a call from Hall of Fame, Nay, none that I know of, in boastful airs; What joy, the lilting of one’s
In one’s life journey People that comes are many. No one is that which stays with thee Even shadows leave at the light’s scream. Everyone’s under a fictitious cloud Intriguing fancies speak aloud Death awarded at trust’s expense ‘Cause falsehood
It was past endurance. Flattened rage went into shaking palsy. He moved into sculptured dark like false reason, to defend the ankle-bone, for sequential pain. Every one seemed a fallible saint wet eyed, sitting on extinct volcano, between tickling bombs
The unnameable voice whispers with a breath made solely from light –Its voice speaks a vocabulary uttered as vast permutations: migratory flocks, tree leaves, innumerable insects… tropes, colors, atoms and not least, the miscounted stars significantly smaller than the total
I set on a journey, I thought I was alone I set off with a heart of stone Wearing armour, you couldn’t see It weighed me down, you wouldn’t know. My weapons, my emotional bow, fit well, made of strength,
Am I alive? Is this a dream? Won’t I ever wake? Will I forever scream? The mind says, but my eyes don’t see, My soul wanders like a flowerless bee. Each step I take amongst the endless waste, Minefields of
One was just a little shy the other just smiling wide hand in hand they go their way singing songs as they played Neither noticed all the glares they ran about without a care climbing ladders, and swinging on swings
the whispering bell In the hot desert wild on the high chaparral the desert blooms a sweet flower the whispering bell the color of cream on a pendulous stalk when stirred by the breeze it seems she can talk she
Poetry is the heat, a part of my flame, it keeps me cool, envelopes in a frame. Am I sentimental, idle and worthless guy? Feeling keeps me human, passions let me fly. A force compels me to etch on papers