At my fingertips the pen, the needle,
The hammer, anvil or saw,
The bubbling pot or the iron spade,
The tool does not matter, but the sensation
Of creation, of a work from my hands,
Be it a poem, a novel, cross-stich, a tapestry,
A house or a table, a statue or a ring,
A monster, sewn from human remains,
Or a stew like those from home,
To watch a new thing from my mind
Become tangible and rise
From my imagination, my soul, into reality.
This is, very simply, an ode to the act of creation. I’ll admit, the title was inspired jointly by The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde and Frankenstein, which explains the rather macabre line about monsters.
The Hapless Neo-Romantic