The souls cry out,
From all around.
The souls of the ones,
That had no choice.
The souls of the accidents,
The souls of the mistakes,
The souls of the unborn.
Murdered to protect a figure,
Murdered to protect a mistake,
Murdered to fix an accident,
Murdered to cover up your promiscuity.
Millions upon millions,
Can you hear the tortured screams,
Of the ones without a choice?
Living human beings,
Torn from the womb,
Barbaric, pagan, inhuman, souless,
This custom that we embrace.
Not even dogs,
Or savage beasts,
Are as civilized as man.
10/20/2012 Alton Texas
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Comments about this poem (No Choice by Juan Olivarez )
(27 October 1914 – 9 November 1953)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
- Michael P. McParland
(31 March 1933 - 13 December 1980)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(23 June 1889 – 5 March 1966)
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- Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening, Robert Frost
- No Man Is An Island, John Donne
- A Smile To Remember, Charles Bukowski
- A Child's Christmas in Wales, Dylan Thomas
- Dreams, Langston Hughes
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