~I, Man~


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I deemed I'd do much better than my God above, Himself,

I sought the Master's volumes out gathering dust upon the shelf.

 Their supple skin and leathered 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,

these scribblings in old manuals drawn in scientific sage.

Instructions there, I knew– beware! – yet I continued, all the more,

 this grisly work, where dangers lurked, completing ghastly chores.

I secured the freshest deadest meat my monies could supply.

A local man, of broadest span, yet one too young to die.

I studied all of the passages so carefully scribed in ink,

set about, dispelling doubt, a corpse could truly think.



My master dead, I feared with dread; I'd surely botched his work,

when last we tried, our creation died after it had gone berserk.

Yet, I prepared most tenaciously each vile device required,

to create a living, breathing man from death; my sole desire.





 

My assistant brought 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, my greatest expectation.






Choosing a poet's brain, the sutures skeined 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!

My senses numbed; my heartbeat drummed with great anticipation.

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 one deep breath, then struggled once to stand.

With jubilation, ecstatic gyrations, surely meant to gloat,

As I inched closer, losing composure, it seized me by the throat.



“You'd kill me?” I cried in vain, “'Twas I created you!”

I caught his stench,  my hands unclenched, his eyes stared icy blue.

So very slow, spoken soft and low, I could but scarcely hear,

“Father?” he whispered — my sanity blistered — it slowly drew me near...


 

His ghastly face, so stitched and laced, from sutures sewn by hand,

drooped in sadness, I toyed with madness; as he now 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."





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