Cecila

A school assignment. It's supposed to be in the viewpoint of a stalker, that's a girl, who stalks another girl she assumes she's already aquainted with, or at least HOOKED on.

My friend Cecila,
As new as Winter's debris toppling off my mansard,
Stepped through my prevision much less frigid.
As annual charts matured,
The finishing school welcomed us with hinged glory,
Like a carpeted majesty for said queen,
Leaving my Cecila to take the crown, feeling everything but perturbed.

My eyes and I felt landlocked to her features.
If she was a sea, I would be utterly exiled, Gaia disbanded,
To have only Envy as my napper, my berg in the water.

When she breathed, any, I hung onto the motion,
For it left her lips, much more lush than mine.
Visions of her pulling a comb, which gifted by her mother,
Protruding tendrils of her hair, knotted none at all,
At least opposite to my heartstrings.

Once the session commenced,
I remained more affixed to her from afar.
Amongst her mimics,
Bewilderment struck me blind.
I knew her apart from them
Those dastardly pact makers, fiends of premeditated fondness.
They knew I was gazing over her.
She was mine; they preyed on me like conniving predators.
Me? A gazelle to those ravaging lionesses?
Never. If anything, I am the lioness who gets the gazelle.
Gazelle who will be cherished,
Always ephemeral on this lioness' pedestal,
Not a fare to decorate my oak table.

My friend Cecila,
I became drunk on her skills,
Like a dense mug of dilution,
No pub ever deemed worthy for its draft.

The smidgen slight-of-hand that her pointes produce,
Orchestrating a minuet to my beat-less drums.
I always wanted to be a ballerina.
Who owned the floor he or she walked on.

I later took monocles from my father's collection,
To see Cecila pull her evasion back, with bow in hand,
Coveting it far across the land,
Even, Artemis, herself, would not doubt the grand concentration.
I would give-- anything and more--just to be that target she shot through.

For one day,
I had a reverie that I crawled up her carriage's trail,
Lurked low onto the grass her toes touched, feet stamped,
Panted hard against her stone turf,
And climbed the terrace with an ambition so soaring,
To sit atop her balcony and look at her while she slept.

I premeditated my fondness, like her dopplegangers,
For mine was purer than theirs', all of it had to expedite me beaming light,
Could those charlatans even admit to such a feeling, inkling even?
My crow was as good as their meek little giggle,
A guillotine that shined so much, it lured all in.

For the night came with shadows who clung to my figure,
I, the figure, leaving my home for a better reasoning.
I, the figure, leaving my home for Cecila.
I, the figure, leaving everything.

For I crawled on my knees up her carriage's trail.
For I lurked low on the grass she trekked on.
For I panted on the stone home, she had lived in since birth.
For I scaled the terrace her father had built for her.
Climb,
Climb,
Climb,
For I now sat on her balcony,
And it was I who opened her glass door.
The crick, my greeting, slipped from the opening,
And she awoke with a scream saying, "Prowler! Pursue another!"
"My friend Cecilia, I came to claim my soul." I spoke.
"Fathom my anger and detest for your soul, the same who crept!" she yelled.
Soon she leapt from her bed, and bypassed me to her balcony I had sat on.
I stepped further to her, with a growing grin.
For she was my friend now, no other's.
Each step I took to my soul,
She stepped back.
Step,
Step,
Step,
She yelped as her feet, pointe-dressed and dainty,
Lifted off the air, the space I clung to-- the motion;
I aimed for my prize, capture-the-flag; far, so far.
My mind danced with images of us twirling around her room,
Our hair entangling with one another's, happiness for all; forever.

Cecila's hands clawed at the space between us.
My eyes widened like a serpent's mouth, hungry for vermen,
accepting that Cecila fit a frame so much more glorious than simple lolling about.
Then, I witnessed my archeress, ballerina, and friend fall,
Flightless and completely resplendent.

I laughed, "Until death do we belong; belong to my being. Soul !"
Hesitation beside me,
Envy still on my back,
My obsession for the implorable,
And my life vague and vapid without a soul.

I jumped.
My friend Cecila.

Author's Note

Give me the harshest critique ever. I'm new, come on. If I need improvement, then don't hesitate.

Reviews

[Omar Fendri]

il y a un citation que déclare que la poésie doit être le miroir terrestre de la Divinité où les colleurs, les sons, les rythmes sont les beautés de l'univers. Je trouve absolument tous ces composants dans cette histoire d'adoration.

You care the words silkily and draw authentic and breathtaking images of adoration. Description's mingled with perfection here, magnified with a pure clear-cut vocabulary.
Those are some of the stanzas that took my breath away for awhile.

_Protruding tendrils of her hair, knotted none at all, At least opposite to my heartstrings._

_Those dastardly pact makers, fiends of premeditated fondness. They knew I was gazing over her._

My friend Cecilia, I became drunk on her skills, Like a dense mug of dilution, No pub ever deemed worthy for its draft._

_My friend Cecilia, I came to claim my soul. I spoke._


>>ah, before I forget, I think tobbling should be toppling... Other than that, amazing work :)

[Aleyah]

The haunting atmosphere you create throughout the poem is probably the best part. A peculiar subject matter at it's best, the stanzas I absolutely LOVED were the fourth and eighth. You capture a viewpoint of some seemingly maniacal person and lead on with beautiful words & splendid imagery. The words you use are fantastic and not too complicated to understand, but still colorful. The dialogue is also another aspect of the poem that I like, it seriously gives me chills, it's so...chilling. And the ending is just intensely simple but perfect. Anyhow, really, really, really amazing poem. Fantastic piece :)