Could a Man like Me, Get Over It, I Mean ... Abortion?
A Somewhat Sad Poem (also Known as a Dirge)
and my family has blood on their hands too
innocent blood that creeps over my eyelids
spills on my pillow; the crime done so long ago
John MacArthur rails against 75 million deaths:
Tiny, little, insignificant deaths Civilization calls them
One of those unborn sons was mine, alas
I respected the mother too much, more than Heaven
she was not ready ... that is all
when i echo Saint Paul and call myself the scum
it is no humility: I could not protect my seed, small
and almost like other matter, raw material, I am dumb
and so I crawled to the cross, alone ... and not
because governments, professors, friends failed
not a single one of them spoke for him, "it," a zygote
because we see too many humans, hate easily, red-stained
i could never get over abortion, no matter who does it
yes, you have your rights, I pray for peace and light
that His Book and Majestic Mercy will show it clearer yet
that a Stephen Hawkins,a Lincoln, an Obama might ...
have been holocausted away if mothers thought "ME, Me, poor me ..."
while drinking, smoking, living free each night away
and i share you caring and fight for the exceptions
always, God loves life; He knows who dies as contraceptions
Published by Deonils
I became a teacher in South Africa; since then I have worked in government, schools and higher education. My small business utilises my teacher-training & adult literacy interests/skills. View profile
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8 Comments
Post a CommentTHis was a very brave piece to write. I will pray for your little, lost one.
Well written describing your feelings on this event in your past, emotional and truthful poetry.
Thank you so much Memmay151 and Bro Phil Ariel. It is perhaps good to have a prickly conscience for sins committed deacdes ago. Our sinful nature does open the road -- if we choose-- to the Cross and the Peace of the Prince of Peace, my Savior, Jesus the Christ). Shalom
Powerfully honest article.
Thanks to all who read tonight, and will read ... I emphasize I NOW live as a Christian practitioner (better late than never?) and yet we Christians are commanded to be humble. I do not know what the next moral crisi will show about me or my beliefs/Faith. I hope to uphold the example of Christ and St. Paul. Roberta reminded me to forgive myself. Ultimately, that is what brought this poem into being ... because I haven't forgiven myself this failure. And the rebraodcast of Rev. MacArthur's sermon irked my conscience all day long. This is therpay of a kind (as i crawl closer to His Tree, the Cross. Alelujah and Amen) Shalom/Peace/Blessings
They are well called the "tiniest victims." Very nice, heartfelt poem...
A hard to deal with topic, interesting.
YOur outpouring and depth of pain is executed well here in this post. Prayer keeps us close to HIM. Blessings