Rope Poem by Richard Betts

On the tall table above,
Is spread a beautiful banquet of hope.
As we struggle to climb to the top,
Most of us fall short as we run out of rope.

We are all given lifelines,
Which come in assorted lengths.
And the durability is not the same,
As the ropes are of varying strength.

Some are fortunate;
A good rope they are lucky to have found.
Others - for whatever reason -
Their ropes break before they ever leave the ground.

So the strong and industrious
Climb as high and as far as their ropes will fly,
Thanking God they have the fortitude
To rise into the welcoming sky.

And so they pull up chairs
To partake in this hopeful feast,
Only to find their chairs' legs have been cut
And are not high enough to reach.

But life is not so bad high up on the chairs,
For hope still abounds.
And some level of contentment
Can still be expected and found.

But below that - many are relegated
To eating the crumbs and scraps
That crumble from the table
And are brushed from rich men's laps.

On the tabletop above,
The bowls overflow with hope.
Down below, nooses are made
With the ends of a hopeless rope.