From her playground days,
To the last day of high school
She was a roaring fire.
A burst of red within
A black and white painting.
Her aim was to die with memories,
Not the dreams she never managed
To catch.
To others,
She was a blur
They never could focus.
To him,
She was impossible
To capture.
She was an illuminating firefly,
Whizzing around the bystanders.
They didn\'t quite understand
Those who have a passion
To never stop
Cannot be stopped.
She was a scintillating star
In a dark night sky.
I suppose
Some lights are too bright
Too last.