HOPEless
I’ve lost what little hope I had
in the entire human race,
and see a desperate future
writ large upon its face.
We’ve reached a certain point
upon the arc of evolution,
where progress made along the way
is enveloped in pollution.
We’ve done the damage,
like as not,
and our inner urge
to improve our lot
is balanced by
the innate rot
that spreads through every nation.
My oldest child
of fourteen years
sums up my
unintended fears,
asking why
he sees and hears
the nightly news reports.
I find it hard
to answer him,
to answer why
the picture’s grim
and hopes of rescue
seem so slim,
as my vision so distorts.
The earth will carry on and turn,
and continue on its course,
species still will rise and fall
and we will just endorse
the selfishness of
modern man,
doing what the hell we want,
believing that we can.
We started out
with cold stone tools,
and because we are
such stone-cold fools
we’ll end up
where the savage rules,
right where we began.
Andrew Goodison is a single father of two, full time carer and full time poet, living in the West of Ireland.
