My friend hates church,
To her, it’s a mask to cover hypocrites.
Commitment within, deceit withal.
You hide your sins in the offering basket.
A mouth that blasts tongues,
the same blows loud.
their dancing shoe is both
in the church and club.
She says, they chase God
with their quest for blood.
Thanksgiving is for the computer boys.
She says, church is a house of sinners.
Like tea, I spit out her content.
I took her through life, the word.
The reality of life.
She was genuine, wrong and bitter.
Commune with me!
These people know about God but
do not know God.
God knows his own, commune with them.
My conviction broke her, she needed an encounter.
This friend is SELF.
©️Rubbie_szn
Poetry credit Tamara
.
