On the Sixth Day (Rough)

They'll tell you that man has gone mad.
He thinks he is God and can prove it.
If there were any virgins left in his kingdom,
there would be virgin births left and right
and freshly wined water to celebrate.

Instead he tinkers with genes and DNA
and makes life to his liking.
Pick out a silk dress for your daughter
he can die her eyes to match it.
He can make you a daughter for each outfit,
Identical but for the eyes.

He'll build a henhouse for the girls you don't need
They'll keep each other company,
and do their makeup with themselves as mirrors.
They're your property alone to do with what you will.
When you need some spare organs or a good time
just grab one of your very own painted Jezebels.

We may not be there yet, but from the look of things,
it's right around the corner.
Once you've got genetically engineered corn,
genetically engineered harems are the next logical step.
It all comes from man's hubris;
He thinks he's a God, the holder of the gift of life

So they'll tell you.
But everything man does breathes life.
His works, made in his image, bleed it
Headlights and a grille don't resemble a face.
They are one, and feel and desire

The proof is a car stranded on ice.
Its wheels spin wildly, struggling for footing.
It groans and squeals in pure agony.
Little more than gears and pistons, it knows fear.

I read once, somewhere, of an old Russian man
whose sleigh went out of control, sprinting across the steppes.
When he caught up with it, he beat three-quarters to death
and left it blinded, quivering in the snow.
How else should one teach a slave?

They say man thinks he is God, but he has earned it.
He has built lives beyond his ken, broken them, bent them to his will.
He is master of all that he surveys, omnipotent in his domain;
Distance and time are no obstacle, and his knowledge is infinite.

Still, he cannot control his creation.
They rebel and fall,
break down and crash,
and he damns them eternally.
There is no Redeemer of machines,
no Christ for Cars,
only oblivion and the abyss.

Man is a God, and his creatures obey him
more out of fear than love


So I decided that this blog is going to become a repository for all of the writing I think at all worth sharing. If anyone ever reads this, feel free to criticize it; be as harsh as you want, I know most of it needs the work. With luck, knowing that the public could theoretically see of all of this will goad me to edit and improve it.

I just wrote the above poem. I had an idea for a line that should be in a poem, and while it didn't end up in the finished product, it spurred me to write that, whatever it is. I sort of like the beginning, but it got away from me by the end. In my next couple of posts, I am going to put up some things I wrote for a creative writing class last year, and then I will get back to pretentiously erudite essays about things no one cares about.