Contemplation

The moon’s reflected light casts a monochrome glare
across the yard with blue highlights.

I step lightly on the crunchy grass and
there at the edge of the field lies a dead bird,
torn open perhaps by some creature in need.

Never to reach its full potential, it begs
the question, will I ever reach mine?

Who am I to think I am any more than
a dead bird in the grass.

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