Frankenstein

With all the might, the weight of knowledge of the grave, The clay of swamps and human souls laid waste, Composed in gothic castle bowels towered on the crags, The genius of madness in this universe disgraced. Forked the lightning throttled at the cold conductors, Glowing blue fluorescence, spitting sparks upon the slate, Crackled, pulsing energy surged to the dungeon deep And bade mouldering death to live in rotten dissipate. To dream to be as God is, to do as God has done, To trespass on humanity in breach of science name, Beholding of the horror, of vile reanimated flesh, To rail against the heavens in a rage of fire and flame. To watch with dawning horror as it cracks a milky eye, And twitching, scabrous fingers rap upon the bloody bed, Bandages torn open, trailing from the feral face Contorted by the seizures of the newly living dead. Unleashed upon the earth a freshly birthed abomination, From out the womb of hell, some half-aborted patchwork son, Too late to ask the question at the seething, looming frame, “Dear God who art in heaven, dear God what have I done?”