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What am I, a product of a mad man's obsession to play God?
A cross breed’s creature between medicine and science?
For the whole of my parts taken from convicts, and social rejects,
Sown together by skillful hands of a surgeon, with no feeling heart
For this his ultimate creation.
Life infused by heaven's fire storm from on high, did the lord God's
Finger tip's caress against the rocky castle side, electrifying the night
With the Almighty’s spark of existence, and so my mortal father
Screamed with passions conceit, and this was the very first words, I
The beast heard, from my creator's lips, it's a live, it's alive!!
What am I, not human nor monster, do I not possess a soul or spirit,
Do I not deserve the same rights, as those of humanity, but nay I
Am the mocked, and the shunned.
Locked behind an iron barred cage, in a cold dungeon’s bricked
Lined cradle, I'm left in isolation's holding cell, without
Human compassion's physical touch or empathy's mercy.
Yelling up ward’s towards a higher power's glory, I beg of him,
Pleading for redemption's reclamation, to free me from this
Torturous life I've been given,
Free me, heavenly father!!
But I am more than these lumped together human parts of
Refuges misbegotten, for I live, therefore I am, I am man
Not the beast.
This I discovered in my silences solitude, when my jailer
Gave me a special gift, a book such a simple object, yet
It so saved me from madness’ spell, in bold prints
Golden lettering I read the title, The Holy Bible.
In clarities flickering candle light by night did I so
Read, about how a spirit could lift above his mortal
Imprisonment, and soar amongst the angels.
Once I cursed the day of my own birth, but now
I realize to be alive is a great endowment, to be blessed
And rejoiced upon.
As I reach outwardly through these iron bars anew,
I feel the sun's rays for the first time, and know how
Precious a thing this really is, to experience its warmth
And light.
My father, never gave me a name other then it or the beast,
So I will take his, as mine own, behold so shall I be called
Made by the firey finger tip's of the lord God himself,
Shall ignorance flame by human kind destroy me?
But heaven's grace in the written word shall save
My immortal essence, and thus I will be restored
On a higher plane's existence, on a farther distant shore,
Considered a monster no more.



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