Does it...?

Does it change?
Does it ever change?

This swirly feeling inside
Like a whirlpool
That can't decide
To remain cool
Or churn a savage ride.

Does it get better?
Does it ever get better?

The moment of truth
Hangs like a hangman's noose
The motions remain
At snail's pace
Or at the Deafening sound
Of a stallion's hooves.

The spinning top
Needs just one nudge
To find its sweet spot
Or its control to become naught.

The shadows hold stories
Of the past
And of the present
But reflections
Spur forth the now
Unto the future.