i remember frankenstein’s monster

this old and new born patchwork thing

wrought from broken hollow mind

dead flesh still dead for all the stirring

move shamble as if on newborn legs

while every piece-part past its prime

no song to stir within this sorry soul

a lost one wandering out of time

one would think cold beatless heart

is empty of all but shades stone-gray

while there is furious fire yet beneath

pure passion full to crush the day

show the fear-filled and the fell

no maker’s hand carves devil’s tool

this craven beast – this, of all, the least

more adam than every son

                                      and every son a fool