FanStory.com - An Anguished Array of Acrostics by Videl Sky

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"An Anguished Array of Acrostics"

Prologue
The Infection of Grief

By Videl Sky

The rot has festered too long in my favorite tree.

Help has come too late – it’s dying, right before me -

Even the strongest oak withered to this degree.

I did what I thought was best, and chopped it down.

Now it couldn’t spread further – it had to be done.

Forget the groans as it fell to the unforgiving ground,

Erasing the years of memories we’d shaped together,

Crashing down the hopes of childhood I’d wished to relive.

Though viewing the stump I noticed the decayed center -

It let me feel justified, but I almost would’ve rather fallen,

Overcome the weakened branches just to plummet.

Now then we could’ve been together, forever forgotten.

Over time that idea became a devoted infection -

Forging anew a broken, now transformed connection.

Growing older myself, but you look the same when I sleep,

Reliving a life with you that never did come to pass.

Instead of living for you, I let this poisoned loss seep,

Everything in me yearns to just tear it out - alas -

For better or worse, it’s burrowed far too deep.

Chapter 1
Please Come Home

By Videl Sky

I’ve carried guilt for years since it happened -

Stevie was my dearest friend, my anchor.

Oh, it didn’t matter that he was 'just' a cat,

No person was there to comfort me after nightmares.

Every day with him was one that I cherished.

Then I left, just for two days, to golf at state.

Had I known, I would’ve completely given up the sport I loved,

And I’d have been nothing but relieved, had it saved him.

That wasn’t how it happened.

Jaunting home proudly, with a medal to show,

Upbeat until I called, and silence answered.

So, we looked, the whole family, for hours on end -

Till my dad plodded into the house and whispered, ‘He’s gone.’

When my father found Stevie, he wouldn’t let me look -

I was not allowed to hold him, even one last time.

No, I should’ve fought to see him, no matter how gruesome.

Descending into that hardened ground alone, I wasn’t there,

So, this, this I’ve never been able to forgive myself for.

If I could’ve seen, maybe I’d have found closure -

The lack of confirmation let me live in delusion.

Sure, that one day, Stevie would come running back,

Even as the seasons turned with each passing year.

Losing hope bit by bit, I realized he was truly gone,

For I only ever held him again in my dreams.

Author Notes This is a continuation from the acrostic poem, 'The infection of grief.'
The plan is that these acrostic poems I'll be writing will come together to make their own poem!
Hope you guys enjoy :)

Chapter 2
Nothing of the Old You Remains

By Videl Sky

Narrating the life you lived up to now,

Opening up old wounds to spill on a page.

There comes this moment where these questions must be allowed,

However a disquieting philosophy it will be to engage.

In all your travels, the growing wrinkles on your brow

Note the fleeting passage of time and change,

Gleams of youth long-since hardened to boughs.

Of course, that is the natural, traditional order -

For with age comes wisdom, not often disorder.

This realization of maturity caused much distress,

How will you be remembered, your failures or success?

Ergo, you’re letting a pen tell the story you possess.

Opening the notebook causes the first of the pitfalls,

Like attempting to recall names, you asked your memory, it fails.

Do you write down snippets, hope your wit recalls?

You remember the questions I alluded at the start?

Of philosophy and psychology, and biology in part -

Unalike though joined now, for these matters of the mind, and heart.

Really, can you remember him now, without assistance?

Embers of him could remain, but each day they are halved.

Maybe he is truly gone, and with it his past existence -

And if you’re not him, what right do you have

In telling his whole life’s story, his reminiscence?

Now this is just a stray thought, not a command -

So, forge a new-old story, you don’t need my admittance.

Author Notes Art by Jordan Eastwood

Chapter 3
New Veins, New Skin

By Videl Sky

Now, it can’t be called ignorance, truly -

Even children understand what it means to age.

Why though, was I surprised to see grey hair in the mirror?

Vanity had never gripped me, but this seemed to gut me.

Eyes, now too open, ultimately observed other changes.

In my sagging jawline, the skin-tags littering my body,

Noticing the deep cut wrinkles forever etched in my skin.

Someone tell me – when did I go? Who is looking back?

Never before had I debated showing the world a smile.

Even though it seemed in hindsight a silly thought,

When the remolding could never be unset.

Still, I horde my old pictures close – and show them off -

Knowing, but not accepting, that I’ll never see my face again

In anything but remnants of memories long dead.

No longer able to hide behind consciously blind eyes.

Author Notes - Losing your youth

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