To land safely.

Truth be told. I must confess. That I go through periods of foreboding. When I’m more pessimistic. Than optimistic. Don’t like it when I feel that way. So I try several tricks. To get back on track. Always have. That’s a good sign. But I wonder. Sometimes. If I’ll ever find the track again. And if it really matters. Because the world might come to a tragic end. True pessimism. True foreboding. The inability. To get out of a rut. Because it’s too deep. Too far off track. Maybe that’s the definition of depression. Which I have so astutely avoided. All my life. But am I capable. Of falling off the edge. Into an abyss. With no bottom. No landing. The equivalent of being sucked into a black hole. If that happens. The true test. Will be. To remain optimistic. As one falls. Confident. That one will land safely. In paradise. --Jim Broede