My father confuses me,
The future becomes more of a mystery,
My mother remains sentient,
Leaving the mind far from content.
I have so much to not to be sad,
However materialism makes me mad,
And from those I thought I knew,
Start to be viewed through a different hue.
The poem may seem to rhyme,
But my mind skips a beat, and loses track of time.
… In essence,