Prayer book Blues

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Prayers are like smoke and
dissipate into the heavens
There’s always someone
listening
Though it doesn’t always feel
or seem that way.
I light candles behind my eyes
and breathe smoke to the sky
And hope it’s a pleasing
Aroma
Though it feels like it falls
on deaf ears lately.
It hurts to doubt
But easy to do when the
followers wear happy, plastic
faces

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