The twisting and writhing of agony
The outcry of anguish
All from such a small creature
So naïve and trusting in its innocence

The pain of the body
Is petty when compared
To the horror of knowing
That the one who should love it the most
Is the cause of such pain

No salvation will come
None will take a stand
For it is considered immoral
To prevent the liberty to choose

How little choice this creature has
Yet no one stops to think
That perhaps the gift of life is not ours to give
And thus not ours to take

The world rots in the fetor of the unborn
Their slain bodies decaying
In the hearts and minds of the executioners
Who harbor no remorse for their own transgressions

Yet, what crime has been committed?
What wrong has been done by these inculpable beings?
Their crime was life
Their sentence death

Yet the crime was not their own
But in the eyes of society they must die
To annul the mistakes of others
Of the lost and perverse

Is this the great country of our ancestors’ visions?
A society once great in its riches
Has now become vitriolic and acrid
The undefiled gag on the putrid stench of these sins

The scapegoats who have been chosen
And to restore the so-called “freedom of choice”
Are the innocent and pure…
Now the expiation has become the sin


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