The Descent
Each step slick with rain, each shadow stretched tight.
The air hangs heavy, thick with breath not my own.
The railing is cold, traced by trembling hands,
a spiral into depths where no light stands.
Devoured by darkness, swallowed in gloom.
The walls sweat secrets, the air hums low.
Water drips in a patient refrain,
a rhythm of time, of passage, of pain.
No stars to guide, no path in view.
Only the weight of each step that falls.
Perhaps this descent has no final stair,
no bottom to find, no end to compare.
An endless spiral through shadow and self.
Still, I go forward, still I descend,
for in this abyss, something calls—
a voice beyond sight, beyond these walls.
I will know what lies within.
But until that moment, I walk alone.