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. The sky hangs heavy, still and sore, sad, it doesn't change any more. Maybe the answers are right here, Not up there with uncertainty and fear. A voice cries out desperate and loud, 'every silver lining has a cloud'. Perhaps there are no answers now, but the future may reveal somehow. Unmasked and uncloaked, the weary mind, through the imagery the thoughts unwind. A storm rages and a light bursts through, a path, years lost, there, in full view. Where this leads is mystery unclear, but not up there with all the fear. A whole new vista, could be uncertain, the arduous task of raising the curtain. © Pagan Paul (2016/2017)
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Jul 8, 2017
Jul 8, 2017 at 5:25 PM UTC
The Seeker
. The sky hangs heavy, still and sore, sad, it doesn't change any more. Maybe the answers are right here, Not up there with uncertainty and fear. A voice cries out desperate and loud, 'every silver lining has a cloud'. Perhaps there are no answers now, but the future may reveal somehow. Unmasked and uncloaked, the weary mind, through the imagery the thoughts unwind. A storm rages and a light bursts through, a path, years lost, there, in full view. Where this leads is mystery unclear, but not up there with all the fear. A whole new vista, could be uncertain, the arduous task of raising the curtain. © Pagan Paul (2016/2017)
. A poem about the mood swings inherent in BPD, the struggle to understand them and to manage them. .
PaganPaul
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Jul 8, 2017
Jul 8, 2017 at 5:25 PM UTC
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