abortion, blog post, Blog Posts, child sex trafficking, generation x, honest, Poem, Prose, Reality Check

Swan Song of 2021

Mighty brave, might somehow seem,

Of this child’s millstone swing.

Rest today, swept away,

Choking out freedom’s say.

Swung low, kid not mine,

Stinging sweet of hellish grind.

Black and bluish touch to drink,

Keeping bones of rake-hell weep.

At that time the disciples came to Jesus and asked, “Who, then, is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven?” He called a little child to him, and placed the child among them. And he said: “Truly I tell you, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. Therefore, whoever takes the lowly position of this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven. And whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me. “If anyone causes one of these little ones—those who believe in me—to stumble, it would be better for them to have a large millstone hung around their neck and to be drowned in the depths of the sea. Matthew 18:1-6

-dedicated to the lost children of perdition-

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Return

I see a nation bleeding on one knee, she’s not yet come to know that repenting and turning back to the God of Israel will heal her.

This God of all comfort longs to bind up the wounds of those broken. He is near to the shattered heart and the crushed in spirit.

Yet with scabbed legs, America rises thinking calls to prayer will bandage enough. Not so. She needs to stop eating her own children on the altar of convenience. She needs to return to the Biblical mandate of marriage, Male and Female created He they let no one tear asunder.

Is it any wonder her makeup runs in waters to overflow?

She’s burned on her west side, torn asunder in Mexico and wind tossed from storms that have ravaged her people.

Wake up America! Repent and turn from your sins and turn back to your Maker. Then He will heal your land.

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Joseph Goebbels on the mind, not much has changed has it?

Of sons and girls,

Females and men.

Assorted afore small,

Dense besides thin.

Lowered eyes social soup,

Taste tranquil nearby stoop.

Mechanical grin,

Hyperactive sin.

Dynamic notch,

Routine botched.

Dim craft booth,

One-sided youth.

Films of war inside my brain,

Flames of human error reign.

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Where are they?

One cohort fades into another, egotistical ‘leave me alone’ indulgent orphan age band; I was born in the ‘grey area years’ 1983 to be exact. The years are three 1980-1983 then it’s labeled the ‘Melimilum Generation.’

Some dub themselves ‘90’s kids’ or ‘80’s kids.’

After the year of 1983 is when the colossal Milimilums came into being the new boomer generation if you will; only they are more of an orphan populace then 40 years prior…

I can’t help but think that there is a ricochet, the contractions being suffered by the infantile are the phantom abbreviations that would have been links in a series that are inhabitants lost.

Perhaps there is such pain because those living don’t want to as a result of killing off those that would have been…

Or abuse their fleshy tissue in one bargain or another for that budding friend on no account gone…

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