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The Emperor's New Clothes!
There was an Emperor so proud, beguiled by cunning thieves, who played upon his royal pride, to tracelessly deceive... and tell him they had brand new clothes, in silk of blue and beige, so stylish at the noble courts, the latest fashion craze. So stripping off his royal robes, his underwear and boots, the Emperor stood cold and bare, in naked birthday suit. The shysters then elaborately, didst pantomime array, the King in grandest robes of state, which not a soul could say... were visible to any eye, their Sire stood naked still. The courtiers were horrified, but bowed and smiled until... their sighs of pleasure, gasps of glee, assured their wondering Liege, that he was truly wearing clothes, which still, he could not see! So leaving palace splendor then, the Emperor's parade, did proudly flout his nakedness, a National Charade. As crowds rejoiced in tree-lined streets, their Monarch strutted by. No one would dare to voice the truth, so all by choice ---- did lie. "His clothes are new, their color bright, so stylish, smooth and grand, how proud are we his citizens to dwell in this our land." As all by choice excused a lie, that lie, their "truth" became, for logic is the servant, while desire truly reigns! Of course we know a little boy, a callow tender youth, who too naive to lie, did for them all shout out the truth, "the Emperor, he has no clothes, so why do we pretend, as if his robes are really there, I see his fat hind end!" We laugh, yet this tale illustrates, how people will not see, but tell themselves a flagrant lie, to desp'rately believe. A pregnancy is not a child, instead it is ---- "A Choice." A tissue mass inside the womb, no life, no rights, no voice. Until the very moment it escapes from silent womb, for millions born, the start of life; for millions more, a tomb. Four thousand children died today, each tiny life excised, with cutting, probing, lethal ways that science has devised. A terminated pregnancy -- abortion -- not a death. By euphemisms we describe, the truth we won't confess. Our dumpsters fill with tiny forms, trash bags their tombs of woe, as doctors, dreamers, poets, slowly rot in landfill holes. Not dead from illness, plague or war, or bombs, or hate, or greed, just selfish inconvenience or, passion's misplaced seed. A condom slips, a baby dies, grandparents never know, a life's potential blotted out, no dynasty to grow. Don't show that girl an ultra sound, her doubts just might persist. We may upset her with the truth, when clothes ---- do not exist! But let's pretend the King wears clothes. (For babies are not dying.) How elegant their silken sheen! (And mothers are not crying.) Ridiculous such reasoning?... unless we all agree! Majorities are ALWAYS right, once lies, as truth, believe. This "Pro-choice" transformation then, in time we'll understand, with no more clinic protests inconveniencing our land. For out of sight is out of mind, the unborn cannot fight, just silent screams of agony, ignored when "wrong," is "right." Perhaps the gaze of hist'ry will be kind to view us then, ignoring 30 million deaths, will they... like us... pretend? So now you see we wear no clothes, the truth, here told in brief. Can we continue with this sham, as "will"... dictates... "belief?" Today the unborn have no rights, our courts have reconciled... until by birth they magically, transform... fetus... to... child! Someday the old, the sick, the lame might inconvenience be. We've learned to kill the helpless now, and finely clothed are we. That day WE might be on a list of just who lives or dies, as shivering, we brightly say, "these clothes are JUST my size!"
Originally published on my website.
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