Vine (an acrostic poem)

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Varicose veins climbed his legs like a trellis

It had purple blossoms of bruises to give that bit extra artistic something

Nothing he did seemed to help with the aches and pains

Except the thought of even at his age something of beauty was still growing within

Pain (an acrostic poem)

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Punishing waves of agony crash along your nerves

And as they recede they leave riptides of aches behind

It makes it difficult to breathe, to think

Now you wonder if you can tough it out, or if this time it will break you