Pavlov's Dogs And A Miscarriage

 

Pavlov’s Dogs And A Miscarriage

     The classical response.  It’s called abortion.  When the getting gets tough, throw in the towel.  Say the heck with it.  Blood the lay and smear the juice upon the head.  Blender the little one in a womb of rejection.  Is that all we have here?

     Oh the great inception started by egg and sperm.  A proponent of life yet still in breath determined by a mother who claims her body is her own. My body?!  Even mine is not mine own.  He owns me and I conduct it accordingly.  As a warrior in the Man’s army, He governs my call and determines my steps.  So this idea that we are our own is foreign, especially to me.

     The Great Creator sings another song.  It is life not fear.  He uplifts those who agree with Him and He drives down to the dirt those opposed.  He is after all responsible for the governing of nations.  Under His great bow is all authority.  So when you tell me your body is your own, I question your logic.

     Molech.  Yes, arms of fire.  It was not enough to murder the child.  One had to burn his corpse also.  “Oh, if it is a threat to the health of the mother!”  In an instance of rape?  Who cares where the baby came from.  Sperm met egg.  Seed is there.  The reaction simply happened and life under God was created.

     Money.  Yah, it comes down to money and convenience.  I’ve also heard it came to Afro-American slums and an insurgence of the whites barring economic shortfalls.  In other words, clean the womb of the disenfranchised to thwart disturbances about the social norm.  You see, blacks should be seen, maybe, and not heard.

     Martin had another vision.  He didn’t see his people as cattle experiments on a slave block with selective breeding to bring about the choicest slave in power.  No, he saw heart.  Way down in Mississippi where the good grits were.  I guess for I am not experienced in the South.  However, I know the soul of this man because I have met the Man and I think he resembled Him.

     Some may shoot him down as a protagonist willing to grab the limelight for his cause.  But look deeper.  The man’s soul ached.  One doesn’t light buses on fire for fun.  Anger and violence were not his way.  Not Ghandi.  Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. took the easy way.  It is called the highway of the Saints.  He held his head up to glory and that is why I respect him today.

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