The Flood

My cup overflows. Water runs from the glass to the rim, churning forth, flooding everything that lies in it's path. What is this? It seeps into all the cracks and crevices, all the dry land. It fills the earth. What is this? It doesn't flow steady. It increases exponentially, growing like a tidal wave until everything is consumed. What is this? It is a soldier willing to die for a fellow comrade, a best friend willing to give all they own, a brother laying down his life for his kin. When I die I want people to understand what this is. I want it to be so emblazoned on my soul that people will have no doubt. The words will tumble from my lips until the sky and the Earth cease to be. Time itself may stop but my words will echo through eternity because life is too short not to say it. Life is far too short not to say it.