Jack

Tendrils have frayed
on a rope, now decayed,
as it gently sways,
amidst a circle of stones.

How long it grows,
to the darkness below;
floating above shadows,
amidst a circle of stones.

And though it hangs deep,
there is one it can’t reach;
a hand now deceased
amidst a circle of stones.

He tipped with a crash
and landed with a splash;
a thousand screams trapped
amidst a circle of stones,

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