Down I go, getting further in,
Very slowly, I make my way,
At this pace I won’t reach the bottom today,
As I grow hungry, I eat from a tin.
Further now, I spelunk, I descend,
To make my way, I jump, I rapel,
How far is left? I cannot tell,
All the way down, I will reach the end.
I stop for a drink, pull out my flask,
If I fall, I could die, that is my fear,
The floor is out of sight but I think it’s near,
How much further? I can only ask.
It’s within reach, the bottom of the pit,
The descent has been fun,
But now I long for the sun,
To bask in its heat, it’s cold where I sit.
Firm is the ground on which I now stand,
Maybe the pit is a metaphor for life,
The madness it cuts through the mind like a knife,
The descent it has stages, like the fall into the mad god’s hand.