The Abyss

The Abyss

Speak of an abyss of infinite depth,

A bottomless chasm with no escape.

A darkness so bleak that only misery can grow,

Speak of that and call it hell if you will,

But do not say that you could possibly know

Of the existence of this abyss unless you take

The endless road down into the pit.

There is no end in sight to the grief,

Which consumes the dying soul.

Only loneliness fills the ever increasing hole.

Tomorrows do not exist within the bottomless pit,

Only moments containing memories forever gone.

The sun does not shine into the abyss,

Neither does the rain comfort the thirst.

Only dark and dreary clouds float about,

Reminders that life is filled with doubt.

This is hell…this is now…there is no relief,

Only scattered fragments of heaven’s memories.

Happiness was an illusion to fulfill the prophecies.

An illusion merely to make hell sting so much more.

And sting it does…and there is no relief in sight,

Only the promise of the emptiness that will come

In the darkness and the still of the night.

So speak of hell if you must,

But damn well know what it may be.

It is not a burning fire lit from above,

Nor is it eternal punishment for being free.

It is a pain so intense that loneliness consumes optimism.

And optimism ceases to exist.

And tomorrows hold no hope at all,

And there is no ladder to escape from this abyss.

There is no magic door back home again.

It is the final farewell fall.

It is an abyss of infinite depth,

A darkness so bleak that only misery can grow.

A darkness so hopeless that a soul wishes for death,

If only to end the hopelessness it knows.

So speak of that and call it hell if you will,

But do not say that you could possibly know

Of this loneliness unless you have walked

The path down this endless road.

And when you’ve reached for every rope,

Exhausted every possible route to escape,

Then talk to me about what you know,

And yield to the knowledge that this is hell.

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