The Test.

I saw white once. Sheer white, Snow six feet deep, but no ground lies beneath, What unlucky soul does abyss it's death bequeath? Would I collapse under pressure? Would I fall through? I am a lucky statistic, One who has never been tested to the soul, The ruthlessly trialed has never been my role, Would I survive? Would life be worth that survival? Or perhaps life is only worth the strain, when the strain outweighs your will, Is that not Nirvana? Don't ask me. I've never been tested.