The shadowed hours, a silent, endless stream,
Where weary thoughts like restless shadows gleam.
My mind, a storm, both tempestuous and deep,
Insomnia's grip, a sorrow I must keep.
Bipolar's swing, a pendulum's harsh beat,
From manic highs to depths of darkest heat.
Depression's cloak, a heavy, somber shroud,
Where hope's faint ember, almost choked, is bowed.
The clock ticks on, a relentless, hollow sound,
As darkness lingers, all around, profound.
My weary eyes, they yearn for morning's light,
But shadows dance, and steal the fading night.
The world outside, a vibrant, joyful scene,
While I'm adrift, a prisoner unseen.
A silent scream, a whispered, hollow plea,
For solace's touch, for liberty.
These warring moods, a tempest in my soul,
A fragile balance, losing its control.
The silent fight, the battle waged within,
A constant struggle, where I'm almost thinned.
Yet still, I yearn, for moments bright and clear,
To banish darkness, and dispel the fear.
To find the strength, to rise above the pain,
And conquer shadows, and reclaim the reign.
Oh, weary soul, lost in the night's embrace,
May dawn's soft light, bring solace and grace.
And in the quiet, when the storm subsides,
May healing touch, and hope, be my guides.