Eleven, score years and a decade ago
Our nation sought to have no foe.
Yet this generation hath wrought
Untold wickedness which we have bought.
Our forefather’s mind: holy and pure
Yet we have become wholly obscure.
That golden age is long, long past
We live in the present and it may be our last.
Murder was treacherous in those days
Yet its common now and its people’s chosen ways.
The golden age was filled of a sincere heart
Yet we have abandoned it and had depart.
This generation takes life’s price
Takes foolishness lightly and rolls a dice.
The consequence they do dislike
Murder is eminent upon their site.
Murder comes to the unborn
Innocent and pure and our forefathers do mourn.
The surgeons are slicing the womb
Just to kill the baby to make its doom.
What wickedness is this
Just to have sex and temporary bliss?
Our nation brags of our glory
Yet we have nothing but just a story.
We call ourselves Christians and the blessed
But all we do is commit murder and
2007-10-16
15:50:48
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4 answers
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asked by
Evangelist
3
in
Arts & Humanities
➔ Poetry