Outpost (an acrostic poem)

Outside all was quiet except for that ever-present northern wind

Ugly clouds shouted that something bad was coming

That put Kristoff into an even more foul mood

Pulling duty in such a remote Nordic section of the kingdom was horrible

Observing his youth and career slowly blowing away in this wasteland was worse

So deep he was in his musings that he didn’t hear the twang of the released bowstring

The snow soon covered up the red stain

Moist (an acrostic poem)

Mile after mile spins by as I pump the pedals

Out of every pore pours the tears of exercise

I am covered in a river of exertion

Shifting the color of my shirt three shades darker with saturation

That’s without counting the humidity

 

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