The Ascent From The Abyss

By Srivats Voleti

The floor gave way, the solid ground dissolved,

And he descended, spiralling, unresolved.

Into the crushing darkness, the suffocating deep,

Where shadows clung and silent sorrows sleep.

The weight of failure, a relentless, heavy hand,

Pressed down upon him in that desolate land.

He tasted dust, the bitter tang of loss,

Felt hope recede, counting the crushing cost.

The whispers echoed, "This is where you stay,"

In the cold confines of that bleakest day.

But deep within, a flicker still remained,

A stubborn ember, fiercely unrestrained.

A memory surfaced, a voice both firm and true,

"Why do we fall?" it echoed, cutting through

The heavy silence, the despair that held him bound.

"So that we can rise," the answer did resound.

The truth ignited, a spark within the gloom,

A quiet knowing that sealed a different doom

For the inertia, the surrender to the night.

A primal instinct clawed towards the faintest light.

The shame remained, the scars a testament to pain,

But now they fuelled a different, stronger reign.

He pushed against the pressure, the clinging, viscous mire,

Each movement heavy, driven by raw desire.

The climb was brutal, fingers scraped and bled,

Old wounds reopened, fears he thought were dead

Resurfaced, taunting, trying to pull him down.

But the echo spurred him, in that desolate town

Of his own making, the landscape of defeat.

He found a foothold, then another, bittersweet.

The air grew lighter, the darkness started to recede,

A fragile dawn broke, planting a vital seed

Of self-belief, a strength he hadn't known.

He carried the memory of where he'd been alone,

Not as a shackle, but a map to guide his way,

A stark reminder of the price he had to pay,

And the resilience forged within the fiery test.

He stood once more, though weary, truly blessed

With a perspective forged in the deepest pit.

The fall had stripped him, but it hadn't made him quit.

He carried the wisdom of the climb, the hard-won grace,

A quiet power etched upon his face.

He rose not as before, naive and unaware,

But tempered, grounded, breathing the cleaner air.

The fall was not the ending, but the brutal, necessary start,

Of a man rebuilt, with a stronger, wiser heart.

By Srivats Voleti