Pause For Poetry:
Michael Hawkes /75

Mutating Man

A poem by Michael Hawkes

We have slowly adopted the misanthrope’s mien,
no doubt a result of the horrors we’ve seen,
of the crazy decisions made in our name
of the killing, the maiming and wars we maintain.

We’ve doubted the truth of men being the same
and forgotten the time we hoped peace would reign
in a world that was healthy, wholesome and green
and succumbed to a future fouled and obscene.

We don’t know what happened to love and respect,
our attention is taken by what to expect,
by what might these dastardly humans do next,
by who’ll do the doing and who’ll write the text.

We think of mankind as a scourge or a plague,
tho’ when we became so is still rather vague.
Why did the neighbour first fill us with dread?
When did we incline towards wishing him dead?

We’ve searched many history books trying to find
a trait to admire in the past of mankind
but despite all enquiries we’ve not seen a sign
that indicates humans were ever benign.

They must have been fables told to a child
that people were friendly, gentle and mild,
but tender years lived with spite and distrust
soon blanket that fancy with ashes and dust.

We mutate to adapt to things as they are,
it’s kept us abreast of the changes thus far
and for those who see man as a pestilence
perpetual warfare makes ultimate sense.

16/4/24 – Hawkes

Feature image: Berke Araklı – Pexels

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