Who is this man?
This one who believes himself to be a God at times of good and plenty —
but at other times —
A man who puts on the cloak of Hades and hides deep
in the valleys of his own spirit.
Who is this… man?
— no, child.
Yes, a child
pretending to be a man.
Because, when alone in thought
Who am I but a boy wearing men’s clothing.
As a new day rises,
The weighted shadows of yesterday;
Power is restored.
Never prepared, no plan to stop.
Rising, rising into the clouds
Then into the sky beyond them.
Up into the path of Apollo, himself.
One has never stayed here
In the sky, sharing the chariot with Apollo
Soon, Nyx will take
This one back down
Into the darkness. Into a place where
Sleep is often but never pleasant.
A place where not even Morpheus can seduce forth
Played like a ball upon two rackets;
Back and forth, back and forth…
From riding in the chariot with Apollo
To being knocked back down into
The stony corridors of a personalized Hades.
No one can handle this
Ever shifting, repeated cycle
There is one.
A master of such cycle.
A true power amongst
The living and the dead.
One foot in the light
The other in darkness;
Still, fully aware and in control.
She… she is a woman
And this mortal is but a man…
Maybe. Only… maybe.
With Bipolar, sometimes you feel like you are alive amongst the highest Gods; completely alight with power. Then, this reverses direction and you plunge down deep; sometimes into the darkest places of your soul. The journey can be exhausting and excruciating. Many want to give up, and some do; sadly.
— SOURCE —
Ansley, M. A. (2016, September 12). Free Chicago [Photograph]. Unsplash. https://unsplash.com/photos/L8uwbrjZSjE