Politics

THINK ABOUT IT...BECAUSE IT EMBRACES ABORTION, THE "PRO-CHOICE" MOVEMENT VIOLATES (ITS OWN BELIEF IN) THE FREEDOM/RIGHT OF DOMINION OVER ONE'S OWN BODY...

Heir of Anguish

Heir of anguish
victim of sin
Is anyone aware
Of this life within?

To never feel the summer's rain
or cool wind upon my face
To quietly bear my suffering
my pain without solace

I did not ask for life
nor did I choose to be
Yet I was summoned forth in love
but to die in infamy

Forsaken by my mother
forgotten by the world
Like so much worthless rubble
into oblivion I am hurled

You named me inconvenience
in your life I have no place
Perhaps if I could just survive
you would see I have your face

civilized? nurturing?
a curious distinction of human-kind
an unborn child becomes a cross
the decree comes forth
"kill him!"

forgive? rehabilitate?
a doubtful intention of human-kind
an afflicted mind commits a crime
the decree comes forth
"kill him!"

age? illness?
unavoidable circumstances of human-kind
it will not be long before worth is judged
the decree may come forth
"kill them!"

injustice? oppression?
inexcusable offenses of human-kind
we can't continue this ruinous course
the cry must come forth
"free them!"

poverty? despondence?
caused by the sins of human-kind
why are we deaf to God's command?
His decree has come forth
"love them!"

*This letter was given to me by an acquaintance, and was printed exactly as was written in 1964

MY FRIEND

     TIME HAS A WAY OF CHANGING OUR TEARS, 
     AS I LOOK BACK OVER THE YEARS. 		

     WHEN I WAS YOUNG IN TROUBLE I GUESS, 		
     BUT LIFE WOULD CHANGE ONLY FOR THE BEST. 
 
     AFTER MONTHS OF RAGE, MADDNESS, AND DESPAIR, 
     A SMALL PERSON I MET WITH BLUE EYES SO FAIR. 

     SILK GOLDEN CURLS AND SOFT, SOFT, SKIN, 
     I FELT I'D KNOWN HER ALWAYS, SHE'S MY SPECIAL FRIEND. 

     SHE STARTED AS A BUD AND HAS GROWN, AND STILL GROWS, 
     INTO THE MOST PERFECT BEAUTIFUL ROSE.

     SHE CAME OUT OF TROUBLE, AND TOUCHES MY HEART, 
     SHE'S BEEN MY BLESSING, RIGHT FROM THE START. 
 
     SHE IS A SPECIAL FLOWER, THAT HAD COME TO CALM, 
     I CALL HER MY FRIEND, AND SHE CALLS ME MOM.


        
                     					                        LOVE MOM

O say, can you see the land of the free
beyond the scar of its poverty?
In the dawn’s early light countless tears, now dried,
had once surely gleamed at eventide;

for the perilous fight so hard to bear
is a fight for life--no rampart near.
And the only proof giv’n by our rockets’ red glare
is that life is not sacred. Will we ever care?

O say, can you hear the cries of the poor
who pray for freedom? With tears they aver
this is truly the home of the brave who fight,
against all odds, to end their plight.