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Scent
The Dime
wilowisp
It is impossible to escape the heavy air of incense
and all it carries with it
Like bread and warm red wine and lilies
and gilded candles and fans
soft hush of clerical robes

And this is midnight
all too easy to cross myself upon words of a trinity
memories that have sunk into the skin
like incense into all your Sunday best

There is a moment, choked with bells
the clear sound of priest
pounding at the doors
And this is faith
High and true and so familiar
all too eay to praise with throng and crowd

But a single moment of faith
pure and resounding
wrapped in incense
bread and warm red wine
a single moment in all the year
cannot make up for the rest of the year
a year that was once spent thinking about lilies
not God
lies
not liturgy

And this is memory
this is scent
tradition

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I really like this. Very lyrical. The last stanza is my favorite.

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