He felt that he was just going round and round and up and down.
Moving in circles, as if riding atop a painted pony on a merry-go-round.
He wanted to look forward and to see his life ahead.
But he’d seen and done it all; he might as well be dead.
He was living his life trapped on a carousel from which there was no escape.
Written for the In Other Words prompt from Patricia’s Place. The challenge this week is to write a story or poem of five lines or fewer using the picture above and/or the words “carousel.” Image credit: skeeze from Pixabay.