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“Am I my brother’s keeper?”—one may ask,

The answer, yes, when based in piety;

Religion oft becomes a noble mask

That varies widely with society—

Born of man’s wish to marshal group-held thought

To temper action in civility,

That there, perhaps, a kinder course be sought

To school brute hubris with humility.

From dateless jungles we are scarce removed

And selfish genes play out their timeless fight,

Yet where the fittest by bold acts may prove—

There pride of birth betrays its ancient blight.

So bides the sorry state of modern man—

Where faith lies but another club at hand.