Smoking on the porch again
Ash and word fall free
Clouds obscure Her city's night
As ritual settles between
The grey curls and strokes my face
As we trade pennies like tithes
My place of worship lays far
But my companion looks to the sky
The rain he claims an altar
The clouds, they make his church
Just as the sunshine is mine
Rolling clouds blend with each exhale
The end, however, remains
Each cigarette is ashed
Head tipped against the rail
Mine dances out of reach
Like fingers on the ledge
And still I pray
Faith given freely despite what may
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Poetics and Musings
PoetryJust a place to keep some original poetry. Feel free to leave feedback, I always am looking for it
