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Bipolar Trilogy #2 - 276 Feet Below Sea Level Like a frightful photographic filter, Like this backward beat I put before you, There are things that turn true worlds a kilter, Things that wreck and wrack and ruin, imbue With sorrow's hue and gloom's dark grayish grain, Each and everything you put before them. All or nothing, both and each, they constrain. With tight knots of "not" or "naught" they condemn All in their reach to hells beyond your dreams. This Valley of Death is where I now live. Joy is dead and hope is buried by streams Of dry, cracked tears. Relief's a fugitive. This I write so when in me your see worst, Yourself you'll bless and never be so cursed. |
Additional Notes:
This sonnet refers to the down side of the bipolar equation.
276 feet below sea level is the altitude of the lowest point in the continental United States... somewhere in Death Valley, CA.
The "backward beat" in line 2 refers to the fact that most of this sonnet is not in iambic pentameter (- /) but trocheeic (sp?)(/ -)pentameter which I think is especially appropriate for the subject.
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