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On Being Human (violence — coward’s masque) To walk as man is not to stand complete, But bear a fracture no resolve can beat; We move with hunger braided into care, And fear beside the love we would repair. The hand that shields may also learn to strike, The tongue that heals may wound the soul alike; For mercy and for cruelty contend Within the same brief breath we would defend. We speak of reason, yet are sway’d by flame, And name our trembling virtues, not our shame; The blow once dealt is call’d a rightful stand, As though the heart had not advised the hand. Thus violence, dressed well in cause or creed, Pretends to serve what fear alone decreed; It wears the mask of strength, but cannot hide The smaller truth it dares not face inside. Yet still, in fault and fracture, something stays— A reaching toward the good we half-betray; For even those who fall the farthest wrong Retain a sense that harm is not their song. To be human is to know this inward war, And choose restraint where impulse urges more; Not pure, nor safe, nor innocent of stain, But answerable—to suffer, learn, refrain. Thus judge not man by what he claims to be, Nor by the myths that grant him certainty; But mark him where he pauses, bruised and aware, And chooses not to wound what he could tear.

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