Blade (an acrostic poem)

Image: freedesignfile.com/upload/2017/09/Sword-wielding-girls-and-white-cherry-blossoms-Stock-Photo.jpg

Beware and respect her razor-sharp edge

Lest you take her for granted and she cuts you up

And watches as you bleed out in front of her

Don’t ever question her temper

Even though she may bend, she will never break

Flip (an acrostic poem)

 

Feeling like a coin spinning through the air

Listing endlessly from heads to tails and back again

It makes for an uncomfortable situation and fills those around you with apprehension.

Perhaps instead of chocolate or vanilla soft serve,  you might settle on your edge, twist!

 

Image:  sites.google.com/site/ciese07030/_/rsrc/1272031766806/Home/coin-flipping-probabilities/coin-flipping.jpg

Release (an acrostic poem)

 

 

Racing towards a climax

Everything slows down

Losing oneself in the moment

Every sensation is amplified

And the pressure continues to build

So when you plunge over the edge

Everything feels of so right

 

Image: cdn.psychologytoday.com/sites/default/files/styles/amp_metadata_content_image_min_1200px_wide/public/field_blog_entry_teaser_image/2018-03/kiss_silviarita-144×144-236_52-389_388.jpg

Sling (an acrostic poem)

So it was a David versus Goliath affair

Liam felt his hopes dangling on the edge of a cliff

If he ever lost faith that he had a chance

Nobody would fault him, but

Giving his shoulders a heave he walked over and asked her out

 

Image: s3-us-west-2.amazonaws.com/stevenmcollins/wp-content/uploads/2017/05/15054839/sling.jpg

Lies Hurt (an acrostic poem)

Little white ones are okay

If you don’t want to bruise their feelings, right?

Even if you should be honest, face it

So many more times they edge towards they gray

 

Here is the true balancing act

Until you find where the white gets dirty

Really you are golden

Then you finally cross that line, and you did, didn’t you?

 

Image: previews.123rf.com/images/stevanovicigor/stevanovicigor1511/stevanovicigor151100048/47465571-man-standing-at-the-border-line-on-urban-pavement-top-view-of-young-male-feet-wearing-sneakers-waiti.jpg

Thirst (an acrostic poem)

Too many times he had gone back to the pump

He was doing it again even now

It wasn’t going to change anything.  The water wouldn’t be there

Reaching for the ancient handle, he pumped it up and down vigorously

Staring at the dusty spout, begging for a hint of liquid to form at its edge

They found him there two weeks later still searching for a drink

 

Image: upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/b/bf/An_old_Hand_Pump_at_Yeleswaram.jpg