An Interrupted Almost Half-Fall

If you saw us walking in, You wouldn't bet on us Making it to the end of the ward - But we do. Mind you, each step Like an interrupted almost half-fall. We are the off-beam, off-guard, Off-piste and off-kilter ones, Our compasses trying to align With the North Star And be right and steady again, Some balance again - maybe? We who need a gentle merry-go-round Find ourselves on the tilt-a-whirl, Wondering when it will stop. If we were aboard ship in a storm, We would be grabbing for the rail, Trying to concentrate on the horizon And hoping for calmer seas. Ah, nausea... Just go.