Autumn Pain (Season Series)

Part 2

2. Autumn Pain

 

Cold water falling upon black stones,

Slipping down the dark shelves

Into the murky depths beneath.

A pale white hand reaching up

From the depths, a pain

That rises up and grasps hold

Of dark, shimmering rocks, wet

With icy chill in autumn’s hand.

Black rocks like razors cut

Deep gashes through freezing fingers,

Water mixed with blood, but still,

Nearly there, a few feet higher.

A dry hand hanging off the edge,

Blindly reaching down to one

Stained red with blood and shining

Wet with water, wet with tears.

Like the books that fall from shelves

Of long forgotten libraries, tumbling

Down, knocking more as they fall,

Black stone shatters, falling down

Into the murky depths beneath.