I was birthed by his hands,
A creation of his mind,
A "science" that should have been left in the depths of his works.
His "alchemy" gave me back life,
But never have I been truly alive.
A monster, a wretch,
I have become in the eyes of the masses,
But never been taught to love and be loved.
Never was I meant for that.
In their gaze, a monster I shall be
But would they be compassionate if the
One who brought you to life
Has put you to the side
Afraid to care for you, afraid to love you?
I was conceived in his thoughts,
An idea of him,
A piece of him,
Never destined for tenderness.
Pain I've learned before love.
A child should learn caring before being abandoned.
In the mirror I see nor man nor woman,
A patched up creature
Forged in creation,
"In name of science," a justification for his madness.
Are these my hands,
Are these my limbs?
Or mere borrowed flesh and bones?
I recall death being my last taste;
God wanted it to be like that,
Yet the scientist created an abortion.
Once a divine creation, now shrouded in the shades of darkness,
Just to satisfy his desires
But never mine, nor His.
YOU ARE READING
If Pain Had a Voice
PoetryIf Pain had a voice, it would not speak at all; it would write down its despairs on paper. This is a collection of poems in which we see pain playing an important role in life. Everybody at least once have felt pain in their lives; these poems will...
