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Lent — What It Always Wasn’t

Acrostic poem for the season

Leaning on a wooden bench — five-year-old eyes peering up at the priest
Entering some form of mystic trance, he sings on and on in Latin
Not understanding the words but liking their sound —
Telling myself there must be some reason for there being so many of them
Sitting still, silently wishing they were all gone, so it was just me and a god I came to see



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Joe Luca

Top Writer in Humor and Satire. I love words. Those written, and those received. I’m here to communicate & comment. To be a part of a greater whole.