Death's Song Poem by Taylor Fong

There you are. I see you, below me,
as the icy waters surround you
in its death grip. I see you.
Drowning. Gasping for air, crying
for help. I see them. Listening
to your voice. Hurrying to help.
I see them. All of them. Hundreds
of them, pulling you out of the
water, surrounding you with warmth,
giving you blankets, creating heat,
saving you from the freezing ocean that cooled
your veins and your soul. And here I am.
500 feet above you, hanging,
helpless. Here I am, alone, clinging
on to this cliff, suspended in the air
above the pointed rocks that predict my
demise. That taunt me. That call my
name. That sing my death's dong. My fingers,
barely holding on. Here I am, calling for help, but
my voice muted in the frigid winds that sway
my body back and forth. No one
hears my cries. Here I am, left
unnoticed. My fingers, dug deep
into the soil, searching for any crevice
to latch on to. The ground vibrates. I hear
footsteps. I cry for help, but the
wind carries my voice in the opposite direction.
They, too distracted from your cries, more
focused on you than what's in front of
them, don't notice my hand as they step closer
to the ledge and stomp on my fingers, weakening
the only muscles I can use to save my
life. My nails dig into the ground, scrape the
dirt, as it peels off my skin, and I plunge. Gravity,
pulling me ever so fast, yet while in the air,
time freezes. My life flashes before my eyes.
And again, I see you, surrounded by
others that help you, and I am left unnoticed,
as I descend to my demise,
and the welcoming rocks below me,
sing my death's song.