The Problem with Pedestals

They put her on a pedestal
And there alone she stood,
On such a tiny space,
On such fragile wood.
They praised her for the heights she reached.
They praised her for her poise.
Their praises grew so thunderous
Soon all she heard was noise.

At such heights, the air grew thin.
Her breath grew hard to keep.
The clouds passed by from time to time,
The perfect time to weep.

So scared she’d stay alone up there;
Too scared to relievingly fall,
Too scared to sit, to disappoint,
Too scared to move at all.

Hidden by the clouds from worshiping eyes,
Carelessly, she danced around.
Instead of dutifully standing tall,
To relax, she let her guard down.

More crowded around the pedestal.
It began to sway and shake.
It could not take such pressure.
The rungs began to break.

As each rung broke, she held on tight
And waited to descend.
The crowd grew sparse, not wanting
To see perfection’s end.

As each rung broke, faster she fell
Not caring to make amends.
The crowd disgustingly ran away;
Left only there were friends.

Each friend held the fragile legs;
Each friend caught the falling rungs;
And so she safely drifted down.
Fresh air filled up her lungs.

And one friend caught and stood her on the ground
And knew she had more worth,
Not alone on some false pedestal,
But with understanding friends on an imperfect Earth.