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
Juan Olivarez's Other Poems
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