Unjustifiable Murder

“ba-doosh, ba-doosh, ba-doosh, ba-doosh”
The heart beats being magnified by the ultrasound

Small hand,
Small feet,
Such a tiny little body about to be born.

A hook
A vacuum
Used to evacuate the body

A cry
The first words
The coos
Never to be heard from the tiny body

It’s ok to kill an unborn human being.
Such an innocent little being

But why is it not ok to kill a murderer
An eye for an eye
A life for a life

It’s the immoral justice of it allAbortion is wrong
The bible even says so

“Thou shalt not kill.”
Exodus 20:13; Deuteronomy 5:17

YOU DON’T KNOW
Brenda Weatherly

You say a woman
Should have the right
To choose abortion
Without a fight.

“Abortion leaves no scar”
You insist…
“Just a blob of tissue…
A baby is yet to exist.”

“A woman will be o.k…
If she chooses abortion today…”

But you have failed to see
You’ve overlooked the biggest tragedy!
Abortion scars the whole family!

I lost a sister to “The Choice”
To save her life, I had no voice.

How am I supposed to convey
The world of sadness that I’ve had to pay?

From my home my sister has been missing
Instead of grief, I should be reminiscing…

Of the fun times we could have shared.
Oh, how I wish this pain could have been spared.

For so many years I’ve been filled with sorrow
Because there will never be a tomorrow…

I will never cease to persist
To tell others of what I have missed.

When you continue to defend
A cause of death…
I cannot comprehend…

How you are so dreadfully lost
Because you have failed to count the cost.

A life was never allowed to begin.
I say this is a horrible sin!

My family’s the one who’s had to pay
For this “harmless procedure”…
Or so you say.
Many times I’ve said good-bye
To a person that you deny
Ever existed.

Straight to Jesus’ arms my sister had her start.
He is the only one who heals my family's aching heart.

You want to overlook our loss.
But praises to the Lord,
Our hope is in The Cross.

When we get to Heaven
I'll see my sister standing there.
And immediately I'll know
We’ll have so much to share.

She'll walk over to my mother
And give her a sweet embrace
And with a deep sense of joy
She'll wipe the tears from her face.

No more sorrows or mourning
Only praises we will get to sing!

The old has passed,

the new has come!

Hallelujah to our King!!

She Chose Life
Brenda Weatherly

At the age of 14
She became rebellious and wild.
On the shoulders of her parents
The grief and anguish was piled.

She tossed aside her morals
Without even a care,
And with a man 8 years her senior
They became a notorious pair.

A year and a half later
She would unexpectedly learn
That she was 3 months pregnant.
To whom could she turn?

Her boyfriend was distant
And showed no support.
Others told her,
“You’ll have to abort.”

Her doctor, with coldness, said
“Termination’s your best choice.”
She touched her growing belly
And thought, “Does my child have no voice?”

The road was quite tough
And most nights she sobbed,
But from the joy of her pregnancy
She would not be robbed.

Her mother and father
Showed her no shame.
They accepted her back
And did not judge or blame.

Mocked at by others,
Criticized by her doctor,
Her own loving mother
Would hold her and rock her.

Friends tossed her aside
In such a big hurry.
But God stepped in and said,
“My child, please don’t worry.”

God said, “I know your sinful life
Could paint quite a colorful story
But I will use this baby
To bring me honor and glory.”

“Give this child
A life of his own
And you will be blessed
When he is all grown.”

She knew it would be hard
And she’d face condemnation and strife,
But with God’s loving promises
She proudly chose life!

Her parents loved her
Unconditionally
And became immediately attached
To their unborn grandbaby.

She gave birth to a son
And named him Andrew Jack.
At the mistakes of her youth
She would never look back.

If you know of a woman
Facing this kind of test
Tell her to trust in Jesus
And He will give her rest.

Just when it seems
That we cannot cope
The light of Jesus shines in
And gives us new hope.

Thanks to my Savior
There is one thing I know:
My Father gave me life
And I’m washed white as snow.

Poem responding to Notre Dame and its pro-abortion commencement speaker
Chris Hansen

Notre Dame, Notre Dame!
What are you doing, in Jesus' name?
You invite Obama, because of his fame?
Has the Catholic university gone tame?
Killing babies and welcoming Obama is morally the same.
Do you feel no guilt? No shame?
Careful! Lest Jesus come and extinguish your holy flame!

Abortion poem. Turn Up The Music!
Chris Hansen

In Germany, the churches sang their hymns, as the trains would rumble by!
Cars, and more cars, were stuffed with Jews, heading for death camps, where they would die!
The trains, the trains, made the church music, difficult to hear.
The trains, the trains, they drew too near.
The pastors had a practical solution, have no fear!
The pastors decided that, the music, the pretty music, must ring forth, loud and clear.
So, they directed, turn up the music, as the congregation sings!
Sing louder, sing louder, to the King of Kings.
Singing sweet hymns and fellowship, just a few of our favorite things.
How easily we Christians criticize Germany, as we proclaim with pride,
That we would never have stood by while Jewish people died!
And what do we do when silent death rips babies from the womb?
What do we do when millions are swallowed without so much as a tomb!
We too, turn the music louder, and sing to the King of Kings.
We see not, that God's wrath is off stage, pacing in the wings!

A poem about Michael J Fox and his obsession with fetal stem cells
Chris Hansen

Michael J Fox,
Is in his tiny box.
Fetal stem cells have his mind all twisted,
As if adult stem cells never even existed!
Adult stem cells cure, and these aren’t just rumors.
Fetal stem cells don’t, and they even cause tumors!
These microscopic humans are not expendable,
And these tiny people aren’t even dependable.
Michael J Fox is really quite ill,
But does that give him the right to kill?
When it comes to a genuine cure,
Adult stem cells are morally pure,
And the best part of all, is that their value is sure.

A poem about partial birth abortion and guns
Chris Hansen

You who complain about gun violence,
And yet regarding partial birth abortion, there is an awkward silence!
You’re angry about what the Supreme court did.
Can’t you even protect a dangling kid?
Yeah, I know, Bush’s ban is in place,
But you’ll push the congress when it changes its face,
And you’ll push the whitehouse when you get a new president,
And you’ll leap for joy when the Whitehouse gets a new resident!
Bullets rip through bodies, and this you decry!
But a girl has the right to watch her baby die?
When it comes to gun violence, you mourn the dead,
Yet you can crush a baby’s head?
You’re horrified when victims of gun violence bleed and moan,
But when babies dangle feet first, you take a different tone!
If the birth canal exposes the feet, not the head,
It’s okay for the baby to end up dead!
Ah, yes, plunge in those scissors, suck out the brain!
Who cares how the baby thrashes in pain!
If you can’t see the head, go ahead and abuse!
After all, the woman has the right to choose!
However, some standard of decency we all must meet.
Just make sure the doctor only sees the baby’s feet!
Oh, and the mother’s health must be protected!
Even a little tear must be respected.
We wouldn’t want her to undergo emotional distress!
So, crush the child’s head and bury the mess!
Kill the child as hands and feet flail,
But if you first see the head, then you go to jail!
Do you think this poem is out of control?
If you do then you’ve already lost your soul!

A poem. Abortion. What about rape or incest?
Chris Hansen

Inside, outside, upside-down!
Moral outrage, if, your baby you drown.
But inside the womb, we barely frown.
Outside the womb, “never, never kill!” we loudly protest,
“Not even in cases of rape or incest.”
But inside the womb, don’t even suggest!
Inside the womb, don’t even hint about incest or rape.
Now, when does morality change its shape?
Morality knows nothing of “how old, or how long.”
Morality defends the weak or the strong.
Morality doesn’t change the words to its song.
Morality doesn’t play ping pong.
Inside, or outside, its right, or its wrong.

Abortion and the death penalty. A poem. Make Love Not War
Chris Hansen

Make love not war?
You don’t want our soldiers dying anymore?
You don’t want anymore criminal execution?
Well, then, are you willing to give up abortion as your solution?
You don’t want policemen shooting folks and sending them to their tombs?
Well then, we don’t want babies ripped from their mothers’ wombs!
Hey, out there, are there any takers?
Or, are you merely rhetorical fakers?

Wombstone
Chris Hansen
This poem is based on a true experience that was recounted to me, and shows the sort of thing that typically goes on in an abortion clinic.

"Don't look," the nurse began to scold;
but I did look, I had to look, I saw the sheet.
I saw that bloody bundle in the fold!

"You'll forget." That's what they said;
but how can I forget that my little baby's dead!

My God! My God! My little one!
My little daughter, my little son!
Jesus forgive me for what I've done!
My God! My God! My little one!

"You'll forget." That's what they said;
but how can I forget that my baby's dead!

"Have some orange juice, my dear."
I wipe away a little tear.
"It hurts a little, but I'm ok;"
but that isn't what I really want to say!

"You'll forget." That's what they said;
but how can I forget that my baby's dead!

I see other women with empty wombs,
Which have become their children’s tombs!
They stare at me with empty eyes,
and something in me slowly dies!

"You'll forget." That's what they said;
but how can I forget that my baby's dead!

Mother's milk began to flow from me.
"I don't understand. How can this be?"
"The fetus was more advanced, you see,"
the nurse said reassuringly.

"You'll forget." That's what they said;
but how can I forget that my baby's dead!

Late that night, the pain grew worse, and then I bled!
I cried and wished that I were dead.
And in the blood that I now shed,
I saw my little baby's head!

"You'll forget." That's what they said;
but how can I forget that my baby's dead!

"We thought we got it all, my dear.
Don't hesitate to call, my dear.
Don't worry dear, you'll be all right."
Won't anybody hold me, and get me through this lonely night!

"You'll forget." That's what they said;

Abortion poem. Is it a blob or is he Bob
Chris Hansen

In abortion, just what is the issue?
Is it a person, or is he tissue?
Is it a blob?
Or is his name Bob?
Is it a mere choice?
“I prefer her looks?” Or, “I prefer his voice?”
Or, “Well, I just prefer this kind of song?”
Or, are we saying, “Abortion is right, or abortion is wrong!”
If it’s not a matter of wrong or right,
Then there is simply no reason to fight.
You prefer Mozart, I prefer Bach,
We may disagree, but we can still have civil talk.
So, how do we treat abortion? In what sense or in what respect?
Is it merely a choice, or is it a duty to protect?
Under what conditions can this child be abused?
On this issue we’re so confused!
The sonogram shows that she’s a girl! “Let’s name her Jill.”
But if it’s not wanted, it’s okay to kill?
The sonogram shows that he’s a boy! “Let’s name him Bob.”
But government decrees that you get to decide if it’s a boy or a blob!
Just like Ronnie Dangerfield, life in the womb “don’t get no respect!”
But we’d all better be politically correct!
Within the womb, like mere weeds, rip out whatever grows,
Best not look too closely though at wiggling fingers and toes!but I'll never forget, that my little baby's dead!

Abortion poem when did I become me?
Chris Hansen

Just when did I become me?
I received my DNA immediately.
So, from conception on, every cell was human-every cell of me!
My miraculous computer code was there from the very start.
My instructional code was there, weeks before the beating of my heart.
In only 3 weeks, my heart began to beat.
It would still take months for this process to be complete.
In forty days my human brainwaves could be detected.
Abortion is a moral judgment that says, this miracle should be rejected!
In three months, my fingerprints were already unique.
They arrived long before I could ever speak.
In twenty weeks, I was able to feel agonizing pain!
By this time, awareness of torture could slam into my brain!
We abort after this awareness? Are we insane?
After 24 weeks, womb children can be kept alive.
Who are we to decide that they need not survive?
Through abortion, a third of our pregnancies die.
No wonder God will strike a third of the stars from the sky!
Is it merely coincidence that a third of the angels fell?
Could abortion be a hideous plot from Hell?
Every aborted child is a treasure lost before birth.
They are safe in heaven, but their gifts are lost to earth!
One abortion might have cured cancer, but we will never know.
We took these miracles and handed them to the devil, our ancient foe!
Is there any reason why God should save us now?
God’s mercy spared us these many years, though I don’t know why or how!

A Poem About Terri Schiavo
Chris Hansen

I dreamed about the distant future. I saw an awesome sight!
People stood before Almighty God! Some on His left, some on His right.
I saw all people from first to last.
I saw them all, from the far future to the ancient past.
They came and came from their watery graves.
I saw the mightiest of kings, and the lowliest of slaves.
They rose from graveyards, from the dust of the ground.
I saw those who died and had never been found.
I saw tiny children with wonder and wisdom on each face.
I saw mothers run to meet them, and cry with each embrace!
I saw the old looking young again, as they looked into Jesus' eyes.
Jesus looked with burning eyes, to search each heart for truth or lies.
People stood on His right and left, but could clearly see each other.
I saw families divided, sister from brother, daughter from mother.
Then I heard His mighty voice:
He said, "Michael Schiavo, you made your choice!
I died of hunger but you did not care.
I suffered with thirst as I laid there.
I died very slowly, day after day.
Courts and police made sure you got your way.
But Heaven's gates shook as the people would pray!
My Father has answered each person, each prayer!
Your place is reserved! And I think you no where!
Know this my son, you shall live forever!
Your abyss is bottomless! Your escape is never!
Your mind will suffer eternal regret!
Your mind is eternal! You shall never forget!
Terri burned with thirst, but you will burn with flame!
She burned for a time, but your forevers will always be the same!
She suffered half conscious, but you'll be awake!
She escaped her torment, but none shall you take!
Now go to your destiny, as you have chosen to do!
Depart from me! I never knew you!"
Michael's eyes were filled with fear.
He knew it was forever, and that he had brought himself here!
Terri's eyes met his, across the great chasm between.
A look of sweet pity was all that could bee seen.
Jesus held Terri with each comforting arm.
His smile told her she would never know harm.
Michael and Terri glanced one last time, far across,
one look of great comfort, one look of great loss.
How tragic, I thought, Jesus died to forgive!
If only, if only, Michael had just helped her live!
For the rest of time, forever alone in his fate,
Michael will wail, "If only, if only, but now its too late! Too Late! To Late!