This abomination if created by science,
Would be destroyed before it saw the light of day, But this cruel twist of fate,
Made by men, it lives and breathes,
Mary Shelly’s monster alive and well, Walking, talking and existing in this new millennia, For I am he,
Only touched by beauty,
But in misadventure I destroy,
Not by nature or necessity,
But by accident or calamity,
Perhaps the right DNA has not been found,
But still I search,
The right combination for these tumblers, Listening for the clicks,
And the lock relinquishes its grip,
Is the chimera effect of life reversible,
This monster of undetermined parts,
Neither one or the other,
But in a sum of all parts horrific too touch,
But was it always like this,
Have I been evolving in to this for a life time,
Is my life now a result of my fiendish nature,
Or is my fiendish nature a result of harm done by others, Waiting for love to wash over me,
Cleansing my life,
Washing me clean,
To begin this life again.

Mixed wood bowl, underside, for more see Bespoke Woods on Facebook


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