Human Rights

This poem is dedicated to each of the over 40 million babies who die every year due to abortion.

If you, or someone you know, is considering abortion, please know there are other options. Call 800-712-HELP to find help.

My child fights with every breath—
Helpless.
Totally, completely helpless.
As we all claim the choice, cry out, “Murder is the only option.”
One day, perhaps we’ll pray,
“Lord, forgive us. Somehow stop this!”
We will feel. . .

Firm indignation at the night,
At the fight that must be fought for human rights,
The fight that we must fight for human life.
Against private lies—
Against injustice.
Our flesh and blood dies;
I demand we be disgusted.
Torture and dismemberment of human bodies.
Our children.
Yet somehow, not yet fully persons.

Surgery is gory, yes.
Medical procedures often make masses nauseous.
But a true surgeon seals the incision, makes it smaller.
These doctors cut our souls and leave us hollow.
Their job: a cure,
Not death!
And yet we all hail Cain’s dark flag.

My child? Who will hear her will?
Holding on for breathe.
Pleading for protection.
Designated for dissection,
At the altar of autonomy and self-actualization.
A corpse—the future of our nation.
18 weeks into gestation.

Our destiny? Simply a glob of flesh, a clump of tissue?
Aren’t we all—living, breathing, complicated, clumps of lost carnality–
Chosen, called and claimed for eternality?
Yes, we can buy a lie in exchange for true reality,
Yes, anyone can choose to do what anyone wants—until there isn’t anyone left.

Or we can fight with every breath—
To help the helpless.
Not so totally, completely helpless after all.
We can claim the choice, cry out,
“Murder is no option.”
One day, perhaps we’ll pray,
“Lord, forgive us. Somehow stop this!
“Help us feel.”