The Feather

The Feather

A feather fell from heaven.
From an angel's wing, it flew.
Through the ether, it drifted.
Till in fires of Hell,
A lone soul saw its last heavenly glint.
Raising his hand, he cried, "Salvation!"
And reached for the feather.
Other souls heard his cry and gathered in a rush,
Disturbing the quiet hush.
A feather from heaven to redeem perdition's lost souls.
"For me," one cried.
"Mine," another shouted.
The souls began to push and fight.
"It's my feather!"
"It fell for me!"
The hot rush of air from the struggling souls
Lofted the feather back up towards heaven.
More souls gathered and fought.
Piling one on top the other,
The souls became inspired, as the heap grew higher.
The rush of air from their heated labors pushed the feather ever up.
More souls gathered to climb the human tower,
Questing for the feather, yearning for heaven.
Soon the ground was trampled to a mire.
Yet the tower of souls grew ever higher.
Its mass weighed so heavy,
So dense, that the ground soon began to crack and spew forth fire.
The hot gasses made the feather rise ever higher.
Finally the last soul in Hell climbed the twisting and turning tower
of other souls.
Each one grasped another, holding tight.
He snatched at the feather.
Holding it in his hand at last,
He looked around for the first time
And saw that he had climbed all the way to heaven.
Just then the ground cracked open
Tumbling the souls with a collapsing, jumbling fall of the crust of
Hell.
All into a sea of fire.
While slowly the feather drifted down.