Bipolar Tide

My mind moves like the ocean,
coming and going with the moon.
The tide rolls in—mania,
I am at the top of the world.
There’s nothing I can do,
mental waves crashing down.
Vision distorted by emotion,
can’t trust my brain anyhow.
The tide rolls out-depression,
I am the lowest of the lows.
Numb beyond numbness,
can’t feel anything anymore.
Meds help with balance,
keeps the tide at bay.
But the tide will come again,
constant cycle of the Wheel.

PictureCarl Wade Thompson is a poet and the graduate writing tutor at Texas Wesleyan University. His work appeared in The Mayo Review, The Concho River Review, The Galway Review, The Blue Collar Review, The Eunoia Review, Cenizo, GFT Press, Anak Sastra, and Labor: Studies in Working-Class History of the Americas.