Eight-years-old shuffling out of a bus,
Meeting dry suns and more arid prophets,
Also known as catholic camp counselors;
To meet men of fifty -seven
still persistent in the
dogmatic, christianic, faithful ways of a man as tangible
as Santa Claus,
he is matured and a full-fledging in a overgrown fantasy
of life after decay and he upholds in himself a
superiority complex of Christ-like standards,
his defense, “doing it for Christ.”
An obvious remark that makes an obvious sin clear
To minor bambinos who still opine to fat jolly old men,
Women with a tooth fetish and molesting cottontails.
Your duty to instruct them, lead them against evil ways
Because they have “innocence” and are easily malleable,
Lucky for your Saved asses
They have yet to sense their imaginary friends, even,
Aren’t very obtuse.
These baptized by grace children meet adulthood
In the same manor,
Old, fat, not-so-jolly men
Passing judgement on the young, sunken lives of
WHORES.
See also: girls like their daughters.
Decreeing a tot being pronounced male or female
From her organs in a life she couldn’t wrap up and bestow
Ribbons and money and education upon, something
More decrepit,
Isn’t a life she’d like to ruin today.
Author notes
To minor bambinos who still opine to fat jolly old men,
Women with a tooth fetish and molesting cottontails.
A contest entry
- Abortion. by DAMSELx.
450 points, ended June 15, 2008, 38 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Can you tell my stance, or is it too coded?
Comments
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You need to not code what your saying and just get to the point, it don't even sound like your talking about abortions.
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