©Elizabeth Dianne Allee
It is in times of great sadness,
That you find me here.
Like strangers we’ve spoken silently,
With words no one could hear…
In those silent moments,
When I’ve not written what’s inside,
There is no ink to suffer bleed,
From the flow of pain’s tide…
©Elizabeth Dianne Allee
September 29, 2017
Drowning within her four walls,
Soaked in self made torment.
Submerged in agony,
Little fight left.
Returning to the dark places,
Her mind draws her to.
Surrendering in error,
To the things she once knew.
Perhaps her hurt will all drift away,
Upon gentle waves of continuity.
Perhaps her eyes will open,
And this will have been, but a dream.
Or maybe she’ll drown,
Within her four walls.
Eyes closed forever,
In her slow, steady fall…
Day descends once more.
Again, I am left with ache,
Waiting to join her…
The ocean seems to mourn
Drifting softly to the shore
I look to the expansive sea,
Heart heavy with ache.
Moons fullness above,
Stars seek escape.
Wind blows hardened palms,
There’s a rumbling in the tide.
Imagination dances with the mysteries,
The hidden are calling my curious mind.
So dark and deep
What lies beneath
I focus on what I can see
The moon’s silver gleam.
In the distance strikes of lightening
The light is anchoring
To the present moment, enhancing.
Is my heavy heart, right here?
Is my burdened soul, right now?
Waste I this day, tears for tomorrow?
When they’re nowhere to be found?
Is current pain, born of a future yet unborn,
Still the present, because it hurts so bad.
The storm’s in the distance.
It may never arrive, or perhaps it already has…
Written while at Hilton Head Island, SC. Had some hard days after Robin Williams committed suicide. Hit me hard. Will post a couple of poems from that week. Was amazingly beautiful there- right by the ocean.
Her umbrella settles upside down,
Open, but on the ground.
She grasps it by the firm handle,
And drags it slowly, letting it dangle.
The rain is falling in unforgiving buckets,
She’s drenched, cold and adapted to numbness.
Her steps are staggered, her head hangs low,
Dusk is upon her, and she’s all alone.
She feels a pull, a prompting from deep within.
To set the umbrella, upright again.
Slightly hesitant, she complies,
Lifting her head to join her open eyes.
Present once more in the moment,
Awareness restored, yet remaining reticent.
Her feet steadying, weakly standing tall,
Grasping the hand reaching out, preventing her fall.
The hand of God, powerful, and nostalgically familiar,
Love, warmth, and light surreal.
He calms the storm inside her soul,
Her upright umbrella; she’s alone no more.
In the blink of an eye,
My laugh’s become a cry.
Settling anew with tear’s stains,
On the tail end of a fun, energetically sleepless high.
Fearing the decline, the abyss,
Where I find myself trapped for a stint.
Until an appointed time of release,
When the sorrow finally ends.
“They” call it bipolar mood cycling,
The cruel shift, euphoria’s exit.
Echoes of wakefulness spiked with joy,
Turn to liquified, molten lament.
Required to ride it out,
I’ve gotten better with the passing of time.
But I’d rather avoid this darkness,
While I’m waiting to realign.
Note: I wrote this a while back. So, not current emotions.
Pic:http://www.deviantart.com/art/Bipolar-343768006 (a lot of beautiful images from this artist).