[Marcus N. Colon]
O little ones of old, the story shall be told, of mothers wailing cries, when your lives they stole, infants to death, in slaughtering sprees, fearful ancient rulers, of false idolatry, what harm what threat, to stalk a helpless prey, child to cease their rule, could rise up one day.
Survival, crucial, tomorrow is born today, strength of the innocent, they'll play while knowing pain.
Centuries change, the story remains the same, warped parents care, dysfunctionalism reigns, child in the home, with a sadistic sense of love, sexual, physical, and mental abuse, from their own flesh, and blood, years of this routine, now a parent himself, the pain of old is rage today, his kids inherit his wealth?
A battle known so well, an unborn's future did tell, roe vs. Wade, a nation of choice perhaps, fell? Modern big business, exploitation of the young, filmed to bring pleasure, sick sexuality fun, suffer the children, to come unto Me, an invitation of Christ's love, to which His kingdom belongs.