Flowers Set on Tables - 2 of 5

Then, I climbed to the summit of a mountain,

One that overlooked a bed of soft clouds,

With the summit of a higher mountain,

 

Far off in the distance.

 

And I beheld a mighty trebuchet

And a line of many goat-like men

Who waited on a turn to be flung

To the higher mountaintop.

 

But I saw that no volley succeeded,

And that caused me to wonder

What was below the clouds

That softened the fall

Of the one who fell.

 

For I saw that a lift was lowered

To raise the fallen back to the summit,

So that they might seek success again,

Without having to re-climb the mountain.

 

And thus, I began to imagine

A blanket of white feathers,

Made from the wings

Of innocent angels.

 

And I marveled at the reasoning of the goat-men

Who were flung to the sky, knowing they would fail,

And yet, fall into a soft and comfortable breach.

 

And I said to myself:

 

“This trebuchet is an invention of marvelous jest,

As I have witnessed no incidence of success,

And know not what success might land on -

 

Happiness or rocks?”

 

And I admired the delusions of fools,

As I could find no fault in their intentions

And suspect it is better to presume failure

In a bed of clouds and comfortable feathers

Than to achieve success in a pile of rocks.

 

Author's Note

This piece is a part of my revised work, previously posted at WritersCafe.org. It is from a book in which some of the entries are written in prose or poetic prose.