The chronicled Depths

In its depths, in the search of bottom,
there is nothing.
A free fall,
something is calling out from even depths greater.
Let me fall,
I've chosen it; no, not chosen it,
the fall has chosen me.
Why light the fire again,
when time had doused the red cinders,
only black plumes had remained.
What rekindles it now.
Its a note long lost in the song,
through its third chorus,
approaching the requiem,
the note strikes like an iron rod,
piercing the mud covered by grass.