you leave a scent

as you enter my thoughts

of wood and musk from

a forest that I haven’t

visited in many centuries

around that fire where we met

remember when we sat

at a thought

and thought of a time

well thought when the future we saw,

remember when I died

and you entered

my room

my friend

the candle had not flickered

as my soul about to spend

my friend of history

a monk of mystery

our prayers were thoughts

in life and death and where

it may lead the way

to a dim-lit path

of malcontent

for there we spent

the time to define

our discontent and delve

into the rights and wrongs

war and death

and those who had time hanging

over our necks

like specks

of nothing we are, to many

and funny

how when I look back

to that time when

around that dying spark

we five, ages old

never were told

how we were more alive

at the moment of our death

and when you bid

your words that fare well

I remember your spell

of history when I reply

in mystery

see you around

the next time

you leave quite a scent

my friend from forests of yore

of musk and incense

and I see no more

as I see some more

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