Poetry
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The Night of the Shooting Star

In this mid August night
Enrobed in wool
Wholly surrendered to gravity against the earth
I watch in the dark sky
Shooting stars coming alive
Each meteor begging for attention
One I follow from birth to extinction
Says to me:
“I am but a speck of light
in the vast expanse of your vision.
Why do you pay attention to me?”

I cling to the uniqueness of my star
As others display equal if not superior spectacle
To the underdog of pyrotechnics
And I make a wish that

You, the unlucky winner of fewer summers
in the lottery of life

You, who take an uneasy step every day
on a fallen staircase

You, beautiful one, robbed of your youth
be my star. Let me try to pass you

The olympic torch and hope that
one day you will run and illuminate
the sky.

Until then I replay the memory of
The night of the shooting stars in mid August.

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