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.
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