God might not hand out, but perhaps, extends a rea

God might not hand out, but perhaps, extends a reach, 
Some might take hold, while others just leech. 
It's daunting to grasp at the gifts divine, 
"Fear of a debt to pay back," whispers the shrine. 

Thus we live, in our fear, we stew, 
Over deeds undone, and risks we never knew. 
As years race by, and life nears its twilight, 
We suddenly wake, but it's too late to fight. 

Yet still, though rare, we find those brave souls arise, 
Who dare to leap into hellfire, forsaking the skies. 
Their spirits may burn, to ash they may scatter, 
But something of theirs in history will matter. 

And afterwards, for ages, we'll boast with pride, 
Standing close, sipping water, side by side, 
From the same wells our heroes once knew, 
But they'll drink no more, their time is through. Late too! 

Yet we still stretch forth with fervor and zeal, 
For we've nothing else to boast, and we feel 
We sit quite snugly, while around us, you see, 
Someone else builds our world, indeed. My friend, let it be! 

In merging these verses, a tapestry we weave, 
Of bravery, fear, and the legacies we leave. 
In this dance of life, as we all play our part, 
May we find the courage, from mere spectators to depart.

Russian - http://proza.ru/2018/02/11/671