Weary (an acrostic poem)

Westerly winds blew across the prairie, making the long grass dance

Even such a beautiful sight couldn’t raise Kyra’s spirits

All her hopes and dreams seemed to have turned into grey ash

Reaching out to touch the blades, feeling them tickle her palm

Yawning inside she felt double her forty years

Hopeless (an acrostic poem)

Hatred spiked as she looked at the single piece of paper

Ordinarily inanimate objects did not suffer her wrath

Perhaps if it didn’t have those words and symbols on it

Eventually those very words scrambled her brain

Leaving her feeling lost amongst a future sea of red ink

Eyes fluttered skyward, but no divine help was forthcoming

Shifting in her seat gave didn’t give her any new insight

Suffering silently she wondered how bad it would be to ask if they wanted fries with that

Thriller (an acrostic poem)

Tearing his shirt, Donald looked on with disbelief

His beloved Chicago Cubs had just given up a three run lead in the eighth inning

Reason fled and the fear of the curse gripped him hard

Instead of a celebratory beer, the bitter taste of hops overwhelmed

Looking away from the game, Donald wondered how much he could take

Leaving the television on, he went to the bathroom

Every beat of his heart echoed in his ears, but the anxiety began to relent a bit

Ready once again he headed in to see history being made, one way or another.