The Slumbering Abyss

Day

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In the quiet gloom where shadows play,
Life’s cruel jests doth lead astray.
A mind besieged by day’s harsh light,
Finds solace in the arms of night.

**Sleep**, the balm for wounds unseen,
A gentle death, a realm serene.
Where dreams may come, both fierce and mild,
To cradle the heart of the weary child.

Yet, in that escape, a darker seed,
For in our slumber, do we truly find reprieve?
Or do we wander, lost and forlorn,
On paths from which we wake, reborn?

**Death**, they say, is but a door,
A passage to what lies in store.
A stairway to celestial grace,
Or a plunge into an abyssal space.

We are but specters, fading fast,
In life’s grand play, we’re merely cast.
Our worth, it seems, is but a pawn,
In the cosmic game that waxes on.

No more drama, no more pain,
In death’s embrace, do we remain.
Yet, what awaits beyond that silent veil?
A heaven’s light or another hell’s gale?

And so we ponder, lost in thought,
Of battles fought and lessons taught.
Is there a point to this mortal coil,
Or do we but toil for toil?

I failed, perhaps, in life’s grand test,
A weary soul, in need of rest.
But in this poetic, somber reflection,
I seek not pity, but introspection.

For life is madness, a fevered dream,
A tapestry that’s not what it seems.
And when at last we lay to rest,
We’ll know if we’ve passed the final test.

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