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."
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ABOUT THE POET ~
Glen Fitch is a 16th Century poet lost in the 21st Century. Born near Niagara Falls, educated in the Catskills, thirty years on the Monterey Bay he now lives in Palm Springs. Retail not academics has paid the bills. Someday he will finish Spenser's "The Fairie Queene."
Last updated August 23, 2011