The Way Forward—a Poem

The way forward now looks like a harsh and frothy marsh

Full of wonderings how the world will be for

Me -- will the rug upon my floor

Be pulled out as I pass the door.

Will the floor beneath the rug even be mine anymore?

What my future life will be for.

I’ve spent my days writing line after line.

Aren’t I getting a little old

For thinking things will eventually be fine?