Ambushed, Again, Misanthrope

Call it what you will, bushwhacked,
assaulted, yet it is sensitivity-,
sensibility-assaulting to become
vividly reminded of ourselves, how
we comport our presence on this
shared Globe, qualify and quantify
our existence by what we do - to,
for and of ourselves, singly, collectively.

There are options; become deliberately
unaware, shield oneself from the
constant reminders, shut out of
consciousness our utter lack of
humanity toward one another; shun
the daily firestorm of news assailing
our eyes and ears, the very inner
sanctuary of our frail souls.

Become a heedless, disinterested
bystander, averting our senses from the
senseless. Protect ourselves from utter
despair for we are helpless and of course,
blameless. The planet will still turn in
its orbit around the sun, the world will
proceed with its charnel-house events.

Events horrifying and eventually
steeling us to their constant occurrences
through the anaesthesia of indifference.
Wanting to know, to be responsibly
apprised and aware, responding in our
absurdly hopeless manner, this knowledge
captures us, demanding our recognition.

That we bear witness to the horrors,
exploitation, carnage, atrocities meted
out to the unfortunate by their tormentors.

This is the human race, a sensate,
emotion-beleaguered organism that
Nature evolved into a creature that
defies its maker, one she has generously
imbued with a creative mind, fully aware
of consequences, fully comfortable with
forging full-steam ahead, and damn
anything in our path to self-destruction.