There is no such thing as humanity,
There is no goodness in the human soul,
No selflessness and no philanthropy,
Whatever be their target or their goal,
For all men, motivations are the same,
The pleasures of the body and the brain.
Some are benign, polite and altruistic,
Some are as coarse and rough as quarried stone,
But all, unconsciously, are hedonistic,
Including those who vices would disown,
For some, the pleasure is in giving pain,
For other, aught but kindness is a bane.
Good men are those whose kick is giving pleasure,
Bad men are those whose pleasure is to kill,
Most people give the former in some measure,
All people who do either get a thrill.
Extremes are rare, for both are in between,
But if it pleases, no vice is obscene.
Those who delight in pain and masochism,
Perverse as it may seem, are turning on,
Those who practise the greatest altruism
Likewise their joy seek to expand, prolong,
Be it content of superficial kind,
Or deep, profound, and of the inner mind.
There is no goodness, and, likewise, no evil,
There is no conscience, only right and wrong,
The right may turn a man into a weevil,
Or elevate him to a higher throng,
The wrong may leave him sick, but love and hate
Are tools, no more, tools of our mental state.
For with love we can carve ourselves contentment,
With hate we can destroy our enemies,
Gloat in revenge, feed bloodlust and resentment,
There is no goodness, this is all there is,
Self-gratification! itís just that some
Are only satisfied when hurt is done.
Donít feel contempt for he who tortures children,
Nor humbled when youíre walking with a saint,
(Though he may truly be one in billion),
The latterís goodness is the formerís taint,
And vice versa, because both these men do
The deeds which satisfy them through and through.
Back To Poetry Index