Echoes in Moonbeams: A Verse of Self-Reflection
A poem of self-reflection, as I struggle between depression and hypomania. All while trying to improve my life.
Confusion, a tempest swirling within,
Uncertain reflections upon the looking glass of self.
Is it the remnants of a fleeting manic moment,
Or a premonition, a harbinger of the impending descent?
Fingers reach for new sensations,
A symphony of music, an elixir of caffeine,
As though attempting to forestall the encroaching shadows.
A slipping, a sliding into the labyrinth of uncertainty,
The self-questioning refrain echoing through the corridors of the mind.
Is this a fabricated ruse, a self-imposed grift,
A grand charade performed for an audience of one?
A phantom affliction, a siren’s call for attention,
Or the genuine ebb and flow of a complex psyche?
Will the Moonbeam’s tender glow persist,
Even if this shell is haunted, tethered to the shadows?
Is this new façade a true reflection or an illusory visage,
A fleeting mirage of normalcy, taunting in its transience?
Am I toxically entwined with myself,
Crashing beneath the luminance of my Moon’s watchful eye?
A burden, a struggle to uphold the illusion of control,
As the specter of pain looms on the hypomanic horizon.
Fear, the echo of an impending departure,
A desire for others to bear my internal strife,
To take responsibility for the failings that left me haunted.
Yet, only my Moonbeam remains, the steadfast witness to my truest love.
To the Moon, I am but a star,
Yet, within, I see an illusion,
A mirage painted to meet the expectations of others,
Fearful of squandering the precious love bestowed upon me.
I toil ceaselessly, an unyielding endeavor,
My poetry, an intimate portal to my inner sanctum,
Where metaphors weave a tapestry of emotion,
For the spoken word fails, while the written unlocks the depths within.
