Your Hands

A separate body

Is not yours to decide


It is, however, a consequence

Of an action you chose

Is it ever right to decide

Who is allowed to live and die

As if we ever earned the right of nature

It seems, rather, that you exterminate

(Yes, I must use such a powerful blow)

Out of convenience to self

You dearly love the cause

But cannot bear the burden of effect

And instead take out the pains

That guilty conscious will always provide

Upon something that you’ve been told

Is hardly even alive

Yet, where in nature do you find the living

Giving birth to the dead?

It seems politics and personal afflictions

Have caused us to distort reality


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