A sonnet in 8 beats, likened to the rhythm of a heart. On Abortion, from a dead fetus to the doctor who took its life...
I did not stand a chance at life
Because you killed me with a knife
And when I screamed from my mother's womb
You turned away and left the room
Took off your white doctor's jacket
And your gloves smothered in my blood
Then you stepped into the shower
But could not wash away your sin
Had you thought what I might have been
A minister, teacher, your friend
But now, I lay in a cold grave
And my blood you can't wash away...
"Defend the cause of the weak and fatherless; maintain the rights of the poor and oppressed" (Psalm 82:3).
Heartstrings Two, Copyright © 2008 by Library of Congress
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