We were not born only to fall
A baby bird shoved out of the nest too early
A child's balloon waiting to POP.
We came into being to leave a mark
an ink blot on paper
impossible to completely erase
permanent marker on a dry erase board.
Death is but a pause during a race.
A breather, if you will.
We are not chalk on a sidewalk
a random scribble to be washed away with the rain
our lives are the moon.
Each with our own light and dark sides
days when our light reveals all
and moments when the world is black below us.
But we were not born only to give in.
The race does not end with death
or with our greatest achievements.
It does not end when we receive a
"World's Greatest" coffee cup.
Our flame is not blown out by death.
It merely flickers to burn brighter.