I pray in the dark temple of Hope
catching Her scent in small whiffs,
each coming to me just before
my breath seems to float away.

Hope feels bitterly cold,
lacking warmth and certain promise.
Among the steel pillars of Faith,
She wades through with faint traces.

At some point I light a candle,
and the vast columns cast shadows.
I warn both Faith and Hope 
the wax of Patience is running out.

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