The Ladder

He worked for years on the tablet
Deciphering the pictographs. He knew
It was a kind of language, those images
An eye, a bird, may be a crow,
A basket of wheat, a ladder.
Did the order of images matter?
He cross referenced similar texts.
He studied many hours in the tablet’s service.
In a cousin language, a ladder
Was the word for happiness, to rise up,
To be lifted above the ordinary.
After years of work he sorted it out.
It was poetry, bad poetry adolescent.
It read: “Today, I am happy,
Happy all this day, today.”

“The Ladder” ~ Michael Chitwood

The day you were born, a ladder was set up to help you escape from this world. ~Rumi