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Little
Innocents
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by betty
baker bailey
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How do you
sleep little child of my heart?
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Are you
afraid of the sounds in the dark?
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Does your
little heart race at your mother’s voice?
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Are you
terrified of her need for choice?
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How do you
dream little child all alone?
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Do you
think how you’d be if you ever got grown?
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Do you wish
for a kiss or a warm full breast?
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Do you long
for the peace of a safe night’s rest?
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How is your
life little one, do you play?
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Do you
turn? Do you Kick? Do you push away?
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Do you look
at your hands? Your fingers or toes?
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Have you
reached out and touched the tip of your nose?
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How do you
grow little one in the womb?
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Does each
new cell bring the dread of your doom?
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Do you hate
each change? Do they bring you fear?
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Do you
wonder why no one seems to hold you dear?
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How do you
fight little one, for you life?
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Do your
little feet kick hard against the knife?
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Do you try
to hold on when the suctioning starts?
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Does it
hurt when they pull your limbs apart?
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How do you
die little one, do you cry?
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Do you
wonder why your mom believed the lie?
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Do you grab
at the one who breaks your neck?
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Do you
doubt that anyone gives a heck?
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How does it
feel when you’re tossed to the side?
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Do you hear
or see the ones that denied
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That you
were alive in your mother’s womb;
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That they
killed you and put you in the tomb?
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But what do
they do with what’s left of you?
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Do they put
you away in a box that is new?
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Do they
sing you a song or shed a tear?
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Or do they
laugh a little and go have a beer?
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Did you
know you eyes are worth some money?
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That your
parts are used like bees use honey?
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Though no
one cared enough to let you live
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They all
care to see just how much you can give.
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For each
precious part there is now a price.
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The ones
who killed you think it’s quite nice.
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They all
line their wallets with your skin
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And call it
“just research” to your kin.
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They who
took an oath to “do no harm”
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Destroy the
hope of the unborn.
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Taking
little lives, they call them naught
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Earning a
profit from the anguish they’ve wrought.
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And where
is mom while this is done?
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Does she
fight for the life of her little one?
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Is she
screaming for help or running to hide?
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Does she
not hear your cries from deep down inside?
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And dad,
who’s so strong, why does he not care?
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Does he not
know the torture you endure there?
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Doesn’t
grandma or grandpa hear your plea,
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“Will no
one . . . no, no one please care for me”?
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But wait,
little one, surely there must be laws?
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To take
guiltless life must truly give pause?
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Some
penalty, some cost, some great price paid
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By those
who dare make your little light fade?
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What
justice will judges and rulers bring you?
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Surely they
will defend you, as is your due?
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Or will
they also turn their face aside
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And in
their dark hearts the truth hide?
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Let’s go to
those who claim to speak for God;
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Those who
say they follow where Jesus trod.
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They most
surely must be screaming out in anger
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Warning
against the impending danger.
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Whatever
will become of such a nation
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Where
innocents are given no earthly station;
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Where
helplessness is such a horrible curse
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And death
is meted out to those who nurse?
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Oh, where
have you gone little one of my heart;
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Little
eyes, little fingers, little toes, little heart?
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Do you look
at this world from heaven above
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And wonder
. . . yes, wonder, what is this thing we call love?
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- © Children of
the Heart 2003
