my fifth attempt:

Epiphany

We set out, the thorny demands, the litany of dreariness keeps still, ravaged. We are the murk, so untended. A bell punch tugs us into the abyss. The wordless, bottomless, a sentence is enough; perchance a look, perchance a speechless waiting. Emptiness plays its dreary game in tender devastations, doom-rapt. We set out, but motionless veiled; petrified brain, the view into a never-before. Absence that celebrates catastrophes. A silence and a nothingness: epiphany.