Poetry Project, V. 9.0, Day 6

OK, so if you like Victorian macabre, then I suggest the show on Netflix called "Penny Dreadful."  Without going into too much detail, it's a delightful mixture of all your old favorites, from vampires, to werewolves, demonic possession, and of course, the Frankenstein Monster.  Watching an episode tonight, I heard what is perhaps the best screenwriting moment I have seen in a long time.  Victor Frankenstein has his creation, and is ready to kill the monster.  The monster, though, who has become quite civilized, says the following:

"What dreams I had of my mate. Of another being, looking into these eyes, upon this face, and recoiling not. But how could that happen? For the monster is not in my face, but in my soul. I once thought that if I was like other men, I would be happy and loved. The malignance has grown, you see, from the outside in, and this shattered visage merely reflects the abomination that is my heart. Oh, my creator, why... Why did you not make me of steel and stone? Why did you allow me to feel? I would rather be the corpse I was than the man I am."

It was simply beautiful to watch.  Sure, it was meant to evoke emotion and sympathy for the monster, and of course, begs the question of who the real monster is.  You could "AP English Class" this to death, and you would still only scratch the surface of the scene, let alone the entire Frankenstein story.  That all said and done - it was all too brief a moment, and yet, in its short length, was absolutely perfect.

It made me think, though, how often we have found ourselves hurting, and how often we have wished that we simply could not feel.  How many times have we said, 'Why me?"  When all we wanted to do was just to not feel.  It's that thought that brings about today's offering.

I Wished a Heart
i wished a heart, once,
that could not feel
nor cry,
that functioned only as a heart should,
its purpose clear and direct,
to pump only blood,
and be naught used for else.

i wished a heart, once,
as cold as steel,
and as sharp,
the could be strong
when facing all things,
and would possess a clarity of purpose.

i wished a heart, once,
that buried pain away
and lock it up,
chained in place,
never to go out and risk the pain,
to be content with being alone.

all these i wished into the heart i sought,
and thought God mean for not providing them,
until i realized the mercy
of not being given the heart i wished.


Thanks for reading,

Me