Clutched that last pinecone, as it threatened

to tumble out of my arms, and when I look up

You, father, are clutching your chest, with eyes blank

And yet I could hear your thoughts,

crashing down on me, like meteorites

Only hotter, as they burned through my scalp,

until all I could feel was pain, with a hint of remorse,

some helplessness, some guilt, some unknown emotion

As the sky tore up in order to reveal the darkest brightest cloud

I had ever laid my eyes upon

I could not lie, I was mortified,

Mortified to the point where I lost the memory

of you pulling me out of the freezing lake

Yes, you did, you did save my life, more than once

And there I was, a figure with an abundance of pinecones

some helplessness, some guilt, some unknown emotion

The ground beneath my blistered feet, is it shaking?

Or do my legs deceive me, in the wake of the shock

that you are falling, falling to the ground, which, alas

is opening up to swallow you, whole

How can I let this happen, why would my arms falter

When the only being I know who lives for me

Is dying on me, how will I ever scrape this memory off

And I was right, I have not, I still live with it

For it is as essential to me as the sensation

of breathing, perhaps, or sight, or tone

or so much more

I just wish I was anything but four, or more

For that minute of the life of mine

pulls me to the edge of the very pit

I struggled to escape, since forever,

All I can hear is the music of a robin

In the distance, and the hollow sound

of the deadly pinecones

As they escaped my grasp,

and tumbled down the hill,

into nothingness