WHERE HAVE ALL THE CHILDREN GONE? A POEM FOR ALL THE CHILDREN TRAFFICKED ,SOLD AND SLAUGHTERED

For The Children

The way is so dark from the cage to the garden
In the hands of the entities, evil and hardened.
They choose the most innocent, helpless and weak
As gifts for the one whose riches they seek.

Where have all the children gone?
Mighty warriors fight the throngs.
At every border money moves
To purchase children for abuse.

Ripped away from mother’s milk,
Sacrificed to Satan’s filth
While “holy ones” drink wine, break bread
The broken ones give flesh, blood red.

Blacker than the blackest nights,
Hidden in a web of lies,
Eyes are covered, limbs are bound,
Captured swiftly from your town.

Can you hear the mothers’ screams?
Can you see the children’s dreams?
Do their stories take your breath?
Do you mourn their tortured deaths?

Where have all the “saviors” gone,
Singing their religious songs?
Do they pray on calloused knees
For the children to be freed?

“Prophets’” words portend the day
That fires will burn, we’ll fly away.
They praise themselves for “hearing God”
While traffic flows here and abroad.

Their smart T.V.’s, electric cars,
Seeker church with coffee bars,
The mainstream news and lies from hell
Have put them in a prison cell.





Dressed in black and Satan’s red
Celebrities “delay their deaths.”
Pyramid hands and serpent eyes
Creating their own suicides.

Where have all the children gone?
In the hands of hellish spawn.
Have we chosen to ignore
The fate of children in this war?

Some are rescued from their dens
Ponies on a farm, their friends.
Some will cross the border white
Into heaven’s glowing light.

There is a garden, sweet and fair
And when the children gather there
A cloud of saints will come along
And join the angels in their song

To bid them welcome from their “tombs,”
Anoint them with a sweet perfume.
No more cages, screams or tears,
Satanic chanting in their ears
No smokey stench of atmosphere.

Now, holy, fragrant garden mist,
The Father’s Voice and Jesus’ Kiss,
Golden vials of incense prayers,
Our love that brought the children there
To the garden, sweet and fair.

What sacrifice will Christians make
To change the children’s horrid fate?
Let your holy anger rise,
Your fervent prayers raise to the skies.

Then listen for that Still, Small Voice
And follow Him Who made the choice
To save the children from The Fall,
His Blood and Body saves us all.

There is a garden, sweet and fair
For the children in our prayers…

Victoria Moores Jan. 2024

Feb 8, 2024

Copyright © 2024 SteveQuayle.com

 

Terms   |  Privacy

site index