Words thrown at me with the strength of a fist accuse me of having no God. Such thoughtless accusations come ENDLESSLY from people whose only kindness comes on Sunday. Bite your tongue HYPOCRITE! The palms of my hands are calloused from the work that I do day by day to help the world. Tell me this: Will you pass by the needy? Calling, "Wait for Sunday. Pray for salvation." Will you let the children starve on a Wednesday? Saying, "They went to a better place." Bite your tongue, lest you become the serpent's pawn as the God you will NOT believe that I love weeps for your lost soul. Tell me, Where will you go if you die on a day that is not Sunday?Birth sign: Aries
You need to log in to edit this poem if it is yours.
View more poems by Jeanette.