Maple Tree

There was a fountain in my garden,
Carved with markings of birth,
Of death, of red and yellow crayons,
Of those isolated, alone memories,
Me hiding behind the maple tree,
Far, far away from my brothers,
Vision and screams,
Scaring him like I always did,
He jumping, crying, clinging to me,
I ruffling his hair, holding to him,
Wiping his tears, smiling at him,
Carrying him to the branch of,
The never ending maple tree,
Overlooking the snow covered peaks,
Sun burning fire on our faces,
Colliding from every sun colored,
Leaf of the maple tree,
I holding is hand in a reassuring grip,
Walking towards the now frozen,
Black Sand River, adapting the nature,
Of its snow covered surroundings,
Me freeing my grip for a second,
Picking up a black shimmering stone,
Gleaming, reflecting, hiding beneath,
Watching my brother, now a blur,
Walking on the white surface of,
The Now flowing river beneath,
Cracking under the weight of new skin,
His once blurred shadow,
Now slipping away from me,
Officials never found his body again,
His soul now a part of the black sand river,
Lost within the depths,
Of my blurred vision and his silent screams,
I still occupy the branch of the maple tree,
Overlooking the green mountains beneath,
I hold an imaginary hand somewhere,
Reassuring my grip again,
My brother,
You will be always safe with me.