Blackjack

For some time now I have condemned the hand dealt to me

Trying hard to bust the dealer

But it had seemed that fate aimed to spite me

Until I acted rather unbecomingly off character.

It turned into a moment I would rue

All the other players revealed no clue

Cards all faced down what was I to do

Did not know which choice would be true.

Turns out what was needed is a change of perception

Or you could call it a willing submission

Faced the next round with no expectation

Releasing all the restless energy and frustration.

Would I take a hit? Or would it be a soft?

One move could make feelings aloft

Whatever I get I accept, I chose to relent

Even without acquiring the blackjack I am content.

What a way to revive this old thing. As always, poem sounds somewhat nonsensical yet may be a reflection of ...who knows.