Altars of Destruction

The lowly will become mighty, 
the mighty will be brought low, 
by the hand of the Living God this will be done. 

Woe to you who call evil good, 
who deny life to the unborn. 
Woe to you who shut up the Kingdom of Heaven against men, 
not going in yourselves and keeping others out,
standing and watching as the blood drips from your hands. 

Woe to you who say that God's words are only ancient myths, 
denying what belongs to him, justice, mercy, faith, claiming them for others, 
as if you yourselves created them. 

Woe to you, this city, once full of justice, 
now a harlot that sells herself to the highest bidder and then, throw, torn and dismembered babies into the trash, 
while your senators pass laws to protect the guilty. 

Woe to you who insist on bowing to the letter of the law, 
trampling on its heart, 
as you sit in places of judgement, 
putting up Roe for exhalation, 
while trampling the word of God. 

Woe to you who call violence peace and peace violence,
the peacemakers will be blessed and you are cursed, 
making one thing into another, 
honoring them while ignoring God. 

Woe to you who go against what God has already decided, 
knowing that he formed his people in their mother's wombs, 
while you seek to make the right to kill them before they are born into law, 
there is no justice in your laws.

Woe to you Senators and Representatives, 
passing laws to elevate the highest, 
and to destroy the lowest, 
bringing the blood of the innocent to your own hands, 
while your mouths claim to be doing good. 

In their church, 
they worship at the altar of choice, 
in their church the sacrifice has no voice.

Since when is there a debate abou the origin of life? 
The greatest gift to be bestowed on man and wife, 
formed by God in the womb, 
but to you, nothing less thana stone cold tomb. 

In utero, John lept for joy at Mary's appearance, 
in utero, Jesus was protected by Joseph, 
in utero we were all formed by God!
We are his, 
regardless of circumstances, 
we are designed by the Divine hand. 

They build elaborate cathedrals, 
decicated to choice and bodily autonomy, 
altars over millions of dead babies, 
their blood drips from their judicial scripture, 
chapter and verse, 
accepted as gospel by millions.

Altars of Destruction, 
death's construction, 
sacrament annointed, 
priests appointed. 

They alone determine life and death, 
who will be allowed ot draw their first breath, 
masqueraded language, 
soul's orphanage. 

Blood on their hands, 
sacramental fervor, 
dead babies are their legacy.

They masquerade, 
they masquerade, 
all full of nothing. 

T. S. Deary 
11/5 - 11/14/24