In the vast Arctic silence, Bipolar Bear reflects,
On friendships lost and what he suspects.
Many a smile in the sunlit days,
Vanishing quickly when the sky displays greys.
He walks alone, his heart heavy with doubts,
For when he turns, the whispering shouts.
Why the cold words behind a warm smile?
He wonders, pausing on the ice for a while.
Different, yes, with a heart so bold,
His spirit stands out, pure gold untold.
Yet tongues wag, casting shadows long,
Ignoring the right, highlighting the wrong.
A fierce exterior masks his true face,
Sensitive and tender, a misunderstood grace.
No tears may fall from his stoic eyes,
But inside, a fragment of his heart dies.
The fickleness of others, the recurring pains,
With each betrayal, distrust remains.
New friends come, and old ones go,
The weight of loss, a familiar foe.
Yet Bipolar Bear trudges through the snow,
Embracing the change, letting the past go.
Each step is heavy, but hope guides his way,
In the fleeting cruelty of the Arctic day.
Peter Pickering · Bipolar Bear