He was the next president, he was a revolutionary.
She was the mother of the general of the army.
This girl had the cure for cancer-
And this girl would be a famous ballet dancer.
This boy was a hard-working family man
Who laid down his life for his land.
This is the boy that picked up your coin in the street.
This is the child that comforts you when you weep.
This girl would become an angel to the poor and sick,
This boy would become a hero of the oppressed and weak.
This child was you, this child was me.
Millions of men and women, who we’ll never see.
You’ll never know their name,
You’ll never hear their fame.
You’ll never meet them, you’ll never know them
Because they can’t speak, because their start was their end.
With no voice of their own, they were struck out,
Mortally wounded, with no defence, they fell down.
Potential heroes of our land, who knows what they could’ve been?
God alone knows what they could’ve been.
In our spotless lives, we have blood on our hands,
Thousands of innocents murdered as we in silence stand.
Rivers of blood flow through our land, blood of the unborn,
As we lie and slumber, there comes a red dawn.
Who knows what wonderful people we have murdered,
Because it troubled us to have them to nurture
Though we once were helpless too.
Defenceless, they were once me and you.
Story behind the poem:
Written on the topic of Abortion. Did you know that every minute, two abortions are carried out in the USA? And despite what people say, 94% of the babies aborted have absolutely nothing wrong with them?
Abortion is wrong. Of course, here’s probably not a place to debate about it, so I’ll shut up.
Anyhow, my poem is basically first, who knows what these millions of unborn children could have become. They could have been the president, they could have been some great doctor, an inventor, or a patriot. But the sad thing is, we’ll never know, because we killed them.
Who are all these nameless souls plunging into eternity because of the bloody deeds of our hands?