It was Tuesday when he emerged.
“Is it Friday yet?” he would ask.
Bitter bile bites at his throat,
bitter images haunt his thoughts.
He waited, at least ’till Thursday,
answered ego’s requirement to earn,
but Friday was a goal too far.
I watched him build up and fall apart
like sand castles on the shore.
It was bad when it rained
because memories collect in puddles,
it was worse when they dried.
“Is it Friday Yet?”
Bitter images haunt his thoughts
and catch with the bile in his throat,
because pain is swallowed when
it cannot be spoken.
“Is it Friday yet?”
My brother, my friend, if only my breaking
heart were enough to heal yours.
For Margo’s Tuesday Tryout ‘acrostic’ prompt. This one is a a sentence acrostic. Actually it is a poem acrostic, or at least a partial one. The first word of each line is taken from In The Desert by Stephen Crane. The first poem to get me interested in reading and writing the stuff. 🙂 I tried to adhere a bit to his style as well.