A change is nigh, fortune unknown.
Anxious to know what happens next,
Thinking only leaves you perplexed.
The future, which was once my own,
Now relying on a wishbone;
An unfair probability.
We fight with coarse hostility;
Fate bestows a vicious temper,
No mercy for a pained whimper.
A chore to find stability.
Image credit: pixabay.com
In response to Ronovan Writes’ Décima Challenge found here