Survival of the Fittest

 "Every man for himself."

That's what they'll say
When they look back on this moment.
No certainty or belief,
Only a sense of desperation.
"Every man for himself",
An archaic term
From a time long gone,
Words that deny the validity 
Of half of the human race. 
What better words could be said
Of a moment 
Such as this? 

Right and wrong,
Good and bad,
There has to be an answer
That won't kill us in our sleep.
There have to be words
That won't bring forth nature
In the worst form it takes.
No love,
No community,
Only survival of the fittest,
The ones who were chosen,

They will say,
To carry on the human race.

"Every man for himself."
That's how the fascists talk
When they get on their platforms
Of cruelty and greed.
"Every man should help himself
To the spoils of war."
No thought for the needy,
No love for the destitute, 
Only a desire
For destruction
And chaos.

They sound so certain.
They speak as though 
They know something we don't.
Is it any wonder
That we've turned out to be
Just like them?

"Every man for himself.
Let our world be turned over
To the will of nature
And the needs of the many over the few."

The few will rule over us.
It is they who will decide
Who lives and who dies. 
Nobody but them thinks
That they should be in charge.
Nobody thinks this is fair. 

"Every man for himself."
They say,
"Except us.
Don't abandon us
In our hour of need. 
Without you,
We'd die.
We need you.
Please don't leave us
To suffer our fate.
Please don't let the chaos
Of the Infinite
Devour us whole."