Poem: Mistanthropy

6 BILLION PEOPLE CAN’T BE WRONG
I often find myself a-broodin’:
What’s so great ’bout being human.
Standing homo-sapient and tall
Is nothing really great at all.

We’re really just a load of bores,
No longer walking on all fours;
Who murder animals for our feasts,
But say that monkeys are lower beasts;

Using religion to kill the sinners
And also serve them up for dinners;
We think that we’re the higher species
Because we no longer fling our feces.

To all that, I say, “Just go and die.
Humanity is just another lie.”
It’s a way of puffing up our chest,
Make believing we’re the best.

Intolerance, suffering, and pain
Are merely scars for what we’ve gained.
Then we give carte blanche to maiming
As long as it’s the enemy we’re blaming.

We poison the atmosphere as we pleases
And inject white rabbits with our diseases.
We buy more guns than we need.
We vote for idiots and let them lead.

On battlefields, we’re completely useless:
Only death, injuries and all the mess.
Maybe someday, we’ll get it right.
No one’ll get hurt when there’s a fight.

And a good clue that we’re really dumb:
We learned to make a nuclear bomb.
Unnerving that we have the compulsion
To fiddle around with our own expulsion

Yes, if we use it, it’ll be the end.
No more leaders, followers, my friend.
And Mother Earth we’ll no longer encroach.
That’ll be left up to the cockroach.


1 IN 6 BILLION: A REBUTTAL
I guess I was being a bit mean.
It’s not all bad as a human bein’.
There’s art and sex, hockey too,
Laughter, children, and Doctor Who.

We wrote the book of love and compassion.
We’ll even put up with new French fashion.
Some of us are really nice people.
It almost makes up for all the evil.

We can also learn to save the Earth.
And treasure each other, for what it’s worth.
But no more positives into which I can delve,
It’s 36 bad lines against a count of 12.

 

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