I deemed I'd do much better than my God above, Himself,
I sought my Master's volumes gathering dust upon the shelf.
Their supple skin and leathery feel brought an aching heart release,
'twas then I knew why none should die—my mentor's shared belief.
Sketched body parts were works of art, I thumbed through, page by page,
scribblings in manuals drawn with scientific sage.
Instructions there, I knew– beware! – I continued, all the more,
a grisly work, where dangers lurk, to complete a ghastly chore.
I secured the freshest, deadest meat mere money could supply.
A local man, of broadest span, yet one too young to die.
I studied all the passages so carefully scribed in ink,
then set about, dispelling doubt, that a corpse could never think.
My master dead, I feared with dread; I'd surely botched his work,
when last we tried, the monster died—the beast, it went berserk!
Yet, I prepared, tenaciously, each vile device required,
to create a living, breathing man from death; my sole desire.
My assistant brought most things I sought, fresh bodies everyday –
to my delight; I'd stockpiled right — choice organs along the way.
My secluded lab was dank and drab, yet blood flowed, vivid red.
I diced and sliced, paid a steep price, for bringing back the dead.
In silent prayer, I stitched with care each alabaster limb.
The torso I chose had known few woes; so fit and finely trim.
Heavy-handed, my work demanded perfection for creation,
a sculpted nose, creative throes, with great anticipation.
A poet's brain, the sutures skeined, sewn from sternum to its head,
my scalpel blade assured 'twas staid to reanimate the dead.
Sutured cessations, discolorations, would diminish soon, with time,
I looked down with awe at what I saw, my creation — so divine!
Jacob's ladders hummed, whilst currents strummed — O', exhilaration!
Senses numbed; my heartbeat drummed with greatest expectation.
Electrodes placed along the face, affixed to his massive chest,
I switched it on—when came the dawn—yet still, I could not rest...
Ozone fizzled; potions sizzled, as charged lightning took command,
laid low by death; it took deep breaths, then struggled once to stand.
With jubilation, ecstatic gyrations, as surely meant to gloat,
As I inched closer, losing composure, it seized me by the throat.
“You'd murder me?” I cried in vain, “'Twas I created you!”
I caught a stench, my hands unclenched—eyes stared, pale icy blue.
So very slow, quite soft and low, I could but scarcely hear,
“Father?” words whispered — my sanity blistered — it slowly drew me near...
His ghastly face, so stitched and laced, from sutures sewn by hand,
steeped in sadness, I toyed with madness; as now, he rose to stand.
“Yes!” I cried, “You are my son, you'd take my life as yours begins?”
Dead eyes brightened, he spoke, unfrightened —
"I'm man, thus I am sin."
Mary Shelly's (then Mary Wolstonecraft Godwin) Frankenstein was actually written on a dare, of sorts.
While vacationing in Switzerland with Lord Byron, Mary and her future husband Percy Shelly and friends were housebound during inclement weather. To entertain themselves, they began talking, telling each other stories. The dare comes about when Lord Byron challenged the members of the group to to see who could create a supernatural tale. Mary Shelly had a nightmare as a result of the ghost stories and began to draft Frankenstein the next day.
Many stories and movies have had similar plots to Shelly's frightening tale. H.P. Lovecraft's Re-animator uses a similar theme, however a mysterious potion created by the madman doctor West is the catalyst for re-animating dead tissue in that tale.
Mankind never bodes well when trying to play God.
Thanks for reading. I hope you've enjoyed the poem as well as the message.
If man were truly able to do this— create a living, breathing reanimated mass of dead tissue and give life to it—it would be a creature without a soul, a beast filled with nothing resembling any semblance of humanity... save mankind's own sin.
As always ~ Pleasant Screams.