Apostate

Let me not be sundered
by the bleakness of the moment.
Harrowing tragedies are nothing new
to us humans
pardon me for not saying humankind
I hate oxymorons.

We are the higher species:
we don’t eat our own,
we don’t chase out our young ones
when they sprout wings.
But we got our own ingrown nails
in the coffin:
Drugs, religion and genocide.

What’s that you want to add to the list?
Arts, you say?
Point taken but
no, this is not the poem for it.