In the hushed whispers of the icy winds,
Bipolar Bear hears the rustling of sins.
Voices chatter, a storm of tales,
As snowflakes gather, the truth it pales.
Why the whispers, what fuels the spite?
Is it fragility within that takes to flight?
Jealousy, perhaps, a green-eyed shade,
Or vindictiveness, with malice laid?
Bear stands firm amid the frosty lies,
“I can face the world, if truth applies.
Let them speak of me, let the stories fly,
For my heart is clear, on this I rely.”
But falsehoods weave through the icy air,
Stories spun with dark flair;
These he cannot, will not abide,
The twisted tales that some confide.
Even ‘friends’ may carry a hidden knife,
Ready to cut through his tranquil life.
Most painful are the tales that start,
To harm the family, to break a heart.
Those who turn, on falsehoods bred,
Conjure shadows in their head;
Yet time may bring a surprising twist,
An apology, a truth once missed.
Forgiveness comes as the winter snows melt,
For Bear knows well the blow they’ve felt.
Yet he laments the wasted years,
The needless burden of hostile fears.
“I forgive,” whispers Bear to the night,
But mourns the loss, the needless plight.
In his heart, the hope still sings,
For truth to unfold its healing wings.
Peter Pickering · Bipolar Bear