In the still of the Arctic night, under the aurora's mystic light,
Bipolar Bear gazes above, his heart filled with silent love.
The dancing colours in the sky, a cosmic ballet, an endless high,
He wonders, in his silent way, about the vast cosmic play.
To him, the stars whisper tales, of distant worlds, of cosmic scales,
Does he feel far from home, or in these vast lands freely roam?
In the heavens, he sees a mission, an unspoken, ancient tradition,
To guard the Earth, so wild and grand, a humble king in a frozen land.
Around him, the world races fast, human souls, in endless contrast,
Forever seeking, never still, lost in desires they can't fulfil.
He ponders their relentless chase, lacking gratitude's gentle grace,
Not seeing life's fleeting spark, adrift in the temporal dark.
Yet, he, in his mighty stance, sees the beauty in life's dance,
Aware of his place, top of the chain, but his spirit remains humble, plain.
He roars not of conquests or fame, but in reverence of nature's claim,
A guardian of the icy throne, in his kingdom of snow and stone.
In the silence, he finds his truth, a lesson from his ageless youth,
That life's a cycle, brief and bright, a journey from day to night.
He knows, as the stars gleam above, each moment's a gift, a chance to love,
In nature's arms, he finds his rest, a soul both guided and blessed.
So beneath the aurora's glow, Bipolar Bear walks soft and slow,
A sage in fur, with ancient eyes, under the ever-changing skies.
He understands the cosmic dust, in nature's hands, we place our trust,
A humble king, without a crown, in the Arctic's embrace, he lays down.
Peter Pickering · Bipolar Bear