Snap Out Of It Poem by Glen Martin Fitch

Depression,
grief,
the sinking pit of 'Why? '
Fate's wheel turned down.
As I remember
when misfortune struck,
defeat or worse
how I betrayed myself,
I chant 'If only...then.'
Elation,
daydreams,
freaky happenstance,
perhaps good luck.
Just so
it seems my lot is better.
Spending nights
as in a trance
I blurt out 'What if...'
as I dream and plot.
I circle round my brain
as if this “how”
this time 'Escape!
Behold a different way.”
But 'here and now.'
This IS my 'here' my 'now.'
To stop these thoughts,
(although I fear you'll say
'I've got some nerve.'
“We get what we deserve.')
I pause, repeat,
'This simply does not serve.'