The Descent Poem by Charl JF Cilliers

After plain sailing, some
hesitations of weather, breaths
of free air, there comes

the long dark dive down the rope,
a plunge like molten iron quenched
the slap-slap of boat

engines fading, the sun closing
above him like a flower
now the slap-slap of loud heartbeats losing

the light, as lower
still he reaches the end of his tether
and still, still darkness below

him, darkness where his light beams wither,
his puny light beams: at the end of the rope
he holds tight for fear of losing his grip.