Candle in the Attic Window Part 9

before the flickering fire, cracked bone dice rattle

they lead between the worlds

to crystal b.a.l.l.s gorged on lies

half-truths are none at all in clearing the air

your future still awaits, meek and willing

in morning's scowling light, the Gypsy camp quiets

turn away you won't see the poor and persecuted

you have cloaked in mystery, caravans and well-traveled tales

Wait forever, my dear

for a bloated, blood moon full

from forlorn howls, the s.h.a.ggy man whose beast is

not contained, who pursues you, yet tames

his bite, sees, scents through lupus rage

your n.o.bility does not hear his soulful whimper

prey to mange and blood-sated fleas

his flight, blinded, betrayed by Moon

wolf-pack tracks, slavering to kill

nature's aberration he cries out, lunatic

I am not welcome anywhere, two halves that cannot join

you fancy to have leashed the n.o.ble beast

the wolves, or he alone, would hunt you if they could

Search ever on, my dear

the shambling, bolted simulacrum is not the sum

but the beginning, a mind hinged to flesh

monster made by machines diabolical

project of a madman who, in creating life, honours it not

the divine escapes as you try to simulate by writing

reconstruct the myths; believe them toys to sunder

yet born a byblow of contrived machinations

these frankensteins serve to scar the pages

journal entries a.s.sembled for pity and distress

what sorrowful imaginings, Victorian preoccupation

hoping to be discovered and saved from certain fate