He was an ancient warrior from times of old
back in the days when the sun was new
and the stars at night were brilliant blue
like the Canopus star he once knew
Often, he was found rummaging the forest
looking for the rarest mushrooms
as the eagles flew he counted tree rings
indenting the roots of ancestry wings
Then one day, he was reborn again
in an era of squabble filled with wars
silence became an oddity full of slew
and "The Sacred" a rarity hidden in full view
They tagged him with bipolar with doctorate degree
for this was a world of medicine and mental deficiency
yesterday he howled at the moon and cloaked the stars
today he is a sad man longing for a trip to Mars
He the ancient warrior of days of old
fights the good battle everyday, with tools of old
mistletoe on oak, he held his staff
all the time knowing his time would pass
Written by Mystic Rose
For a friend who suffers with bipolar
You mentioned that this ancient warrior had a doctorate. I have found that bipolar and schizophrenic people often are some of the brightest stars in our universe. Yet they fight the demons that keep them from fully operating with all of that mental power they have for the good of everyone. As you indicated near the end of your poem.
An honest attempt at explaining what bipolar means to those of us to know of others with the problem but really don't know what is going on in their heads.
You have honored this person with this poem, I feel, Mystic. Reading down the lines I felt the grandness with which life energy can endow someone, and I felt a connectedness that waned into disarray, then disillusion. Such an enchanting line, “yesterday he howled at the moon and cloaked the stars” — magnificent contrast to the following line. I liked these: “…he held his staff/all the time knowing his time would pass” ~~ djl
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An honest attempt at explaining what bipolar means to those of us to know of others with the problem but really don't know what is going on in their heads.
Ron