For The Sunday Muse Prompt #95.
***
It thunders,
and then it wafts,
its wispy tendrils
slowly rising like
the white smoke
of incense from a censer,
held aloft by a priest
intoning a muttered
prayer. Behind,
a bridge to the past
hides, disappearing,
as it were, into
the haze of memory;
ahead, the future –
not yet glimpsed
but in the moment
frozen – and enjoyed.
A Geek's Life 
I like the opening thunder, then the slowing waft of it…
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“Into the haze of memory” this is so true and lovely AJ! One of your best, full of images only a poet could impart! I love this!!
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I have been mesmerized by HBO’s The New Pope …. your beautifully crafted poem reminds me of it.
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And the man in the middle. Nice.
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I like the way you have the incense smoke reach back and forward in time,(like the church itself, with a future that i,s” not yet glimpsed”). And the importance of here and now. I like your response to the image.
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I like the bridge to the past disappearing in a haze of memory. Cool.
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