Remember the children who died so that their parents might be free.
Over the last forty years, millions of American children sacrificed their lives so that their parents could be free... free from responsibility, free from maturity, free from the duty to care for another person.
These children died so that their parents might be free to engage their lust without fear or concern.
These are the little soldiers without uniforms, the guerilla warriors who sneak quietly into the lives of their parents and remind those adults of American values: life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. Peace, love, care for the smallest and the poorest. Generosity, kindness. These great American values are what those smallest of children stand for, fighting for sanctuary and life in what has become an embattled trench: their mother's womb.
These little soldiers endure knives and chemical weapons. They endure the whirring blade, the sucking chest wound, the arms and legs ripped from the torso, the decapitations and the scalpel in the base of the skull. They died like the British soldier of Wellington Street, and their murderers righteously defend the violence wreaked upon the bodies. The killers do not flee, but rather bask in the glow of video and television, they accept the adulation they have so meritoriously earned, they explain the philosophy which allows, nay demands, the violence that has been wreaked.
These children stand for America, they are our future. And for this, we, their parents use the cleaving knife to brutally slaughter them, we use the chemical weapon to obliterate them, we praise the men and women who snuff out their lives. These are the little guerilla warriors, the inconvenient reminders that we should do what a virtuous and free people are supposed to do, the unfortunate silent voices encouraging us to be what we are supposed to be. The children die free and proud, dismembered by the hands of those who hate their own future, disembowelled by those who hate their own children, decapitated by those who hate the very country which nurtured them but failed to impress them with its values. These children are killed, and with them America's future dies.
And so it is that these young men and women died in the battleground of the womb, so that we might be freed from children, safe from love, preserved for the terror of a lonely death. They died to keep us safe from the pursuit of life and liberty. They died so that we might no longer be happy, but rather live as slaves to the lusts of this world, live hungering after the promise of 72 virgins here and now, live thirsting for the guarantees of political cant. By their deaths we hope to guarantee our own futures, bright with high incomes. We gain the promise of futures washed clean of posterity. We wash our futures clean with the blood of our own children.
No longer do we pursue liberty, we cleave instead to license.
No longer do we hold fast to life, we cleave instead to slaughter, to senseless death and carnage.
We slaughter America's future so that we might live the life the our leaders and the world's Muslims call us to live. We must obey the peaceful Muslims, the jihadists our owners demand we work with and respect, the glorious Muslims who we must never judge or hate or even speak a word against. Both our owners and these Muslims agree: the future cannot belong to our children.
Yes, these children, our children, died in service to America's highest principles.
And we killed them.
That is what we should recall on Memorial Day: the soldiers, the children, who gave their lives so that we might not be burdened with their presence. Let their deaths for these principles wring tears from even the stoniest heart!
Lift your glasses over their graves!
Weep your tears over the sewers which run with their blood!
Justice demands witness to their lives' sacrifice and to our own.
This is Memorial Day.
Over the last forty years, millions of American children sacrificed their lives so that their parents could be free... free from responsibility, free from maturity, free from the duty to care for another person.
These children died so that their parents might be free to engage their lust without fear or concern.
These are the little soldiers without uniforms, the guerilla warriors who sneak quietly into the lives of their parents and remind those adults of American values: life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. Peace, love, care for the smallest and the poorest. Generosity, kindness. These great American values are what those smallest of children stand for, fighting for sanctuary and life in what has become an embattled trench: their mother's womb.
These little soldiers endure knives and chemical weapons. They endure the whirring blade, the sucking chest wound, the arms and legs ripped from the torso, the decapitations and the scalpel in the base of the skull. They died like the British soldier of Wellington Street, and their murderers righteously defend the violence wreaked upon the bodies. The killers do not flee, but rather bask in the glow of video and television, they accept the adulation they have so meritoriously earned, they explain the philosophy which allows, nay demands, the violence that has been wreaked.
These children stand for America, they are our future. And for this, we, their parents use the cleaving knife to brutally slaughter them, we use the chemical weapon to obliterate them, we praise the men and women who snuff out their lives. These are the little guerilla warriors, the inconvenient reminders that we should do what a virtuous and free people are supposed to do, the unfortunate silent voices encouraging us to be what we are supposed to be. The children die free and proud, dismembered by the hands of those who hate their own future, disembowelled by those who hate their own children, decapitated by those who hate the very country which nurtured them but failed to impress them with its values. These children are killed, and with them America's future dies.
And so it is that these young men and women died in the battleground of the womb, so that we might be freed from children, safe from love, preserved for the terror of a lonely death. They died to keep us safe from the pursuit of life and liberty. They died so that we might no longer be happy, but rather live as slaves to the lusts of this world, live hungering after the promise of 72 virgins here and now, live thirsting for the guarantees of political cant. By their deaths we hope to guarantee our own futures, bright with high incomes. We gain the promise of futures washed clean of posterity. We wash our futures clean with the blood of our own children.
No longer do we pursue liberty, we cleave instead to license.
No longer do we hold fast to life, we cleave instead to slaughter, to senseless death and carnage.
We slaughter America's future so that we might live the life the our leaders and the world's Muslims call us to live. We must obey the peaceful Muslims, the jihadists our owners demand we work with and respect, the glorious Muslims who we must never judge or hate or even speak a word against. Both our owners and these Muslims agree: the future cannot belong to our children.
Yes, these children, our children, died in service to America's highest principles.
And we killed them.
That is what we should recall on Memorial Day: the soldiers, the children, who gave their lives so that we might not be burdened with their presence. Let their deaths for these principles wring tears from even the stoniest heart!
Lift your glasses over their graves!
Weep your tears over the sewers which run with their blood!
Justice demands witness to their lives' sacrifice and to our own.
This is Memorial Day.
1 comment:
God will demand reparation for what we've done to those innocent millions.
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