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Poem

The pulpit of the womb
Is not the alter of the devil’s tomb
It’s not the deception of 
           a dichotomy of love 
Death holds its breath
While a world calls evil good
            And life death
The snuffing out of 
All the naturally conceived of
The plagiarizing of
God’s creative wisdom
Grieve not the Holy Spirit
As the Spirit hovered Creation’s waters
So He hovers The Church
Seeing to it that The Body is birthed
The path of the pro-death agenda
Leads to a place He will send ya
And yes its ambiguity of my part
To call it a place
The place that is in the pro-death heart
All the hate that is spawned 
As it rises on a dead world that’s dawned
The baby killers
Pornographic thrillers
Autonomous willers
Hollywood beguilers
And the common all the while-lers
Know its wrong but suppress the truth
Unrighteousness for couth 
Let the Holy Spirit do within
Otherwise, it’s the unforgiveable sin

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