This is a Sestina I wrote a few days ago. (And for those who don’t know, a Sestina is a poem that does not have rhythm or rhyme – the pattern is in the last word of every line. )
Your Sunday’s over; you’re looking forward to Monday
So you can take off your mask
Go your own selfish way
And stop pretending that you’re holy.
I know you don’t think much of Me;
You take My name in vain when the preacher’s not around.
Do you think I’m not around
Do you think you don’t need Me?
Do you think I’m pleased by your Sunday mask?
I hear you call filth holy.
I can see you’ve forgotten that I’m THE WAY.
Admit it – you’re running away from Me.
You want to go your selfish way.
You’d rather do your thing, and wear your mask
Whenever the preacher’s around.
You don’t want to surrender your Monday;
You’re afraid to let me make you holy.
I am holy –
Have you forgotten you can trust Me?
I’m still here on Monday,
Watching you go your way
And pretend that I’m not around.
I can see through your mask.
My child, put down that mask.
Let Me make you holy.
Why deny that I’m always around?
And come My way
Even on Monday.
Child, come near Me!
There is a better way
If only you will let Me be the God of your Monday.