Frankenstein’s Soliloquy


I was inspired to write this poem after reading J. F. Baldwin’s book—The Deadliest Monster: A Christian Introduction to Worldviews.


The duality of man

Dogears the pages of nonfiction.



Playing God,

A mad scientist

Creates Eden within.


But poised politicians

Are not what they seem.


The matrix of man—

Outwardly good,

Shockingly evil—

A tumor,

Growing larger than its host;

A scalpel inside a cranium boasts.


Change from within

Only helps the monster sin.


Metallic butterfly wings rust.

Trespasses buried under

Good deeds unjust.



True change is divine.


A punctuated moment in time

Inspires humility.


“Cursed is he who is hung on a tree”

For all humanity,

Commencing with the brutality of truth.



What then of Frankenstein’s golem?

What’s his religion?



Longing for acceptance,

By an act of kindness,

(Chopping wood)

He surgically removes

The knife from a villager’s head


Unaware of his own reflection—

The epitome of horror;

An experiment of the living dead.


With pride, he smiles.

A child’s life he saves.


Looking to be an honorary

Of human dignity and life,


This sentient chimera

Finds himself again

In fictionless strife.


Between his shoulder blades,

A thick liquid

Runs hot and red.



The knife sinks deep

No longer in the mind or sleep


But in the moment

A reminder of the sin we reap.


“What a fool I’ve been,”

Cries the gentle giant,

Feeling the cruel incision

More in his heart.



“Hope in hope has been my religion.


“My desire to drink from their cup—

A witch’s brew of superstition—

Only proved the death of humanism.


“I sneered at the story of Jekyll and Hyde.

I sighed and swallowed the lie

That humanity’s good—

Deep inside.


“My good works erased,

My good intentions debased

The moment their eyes

Fell on me from the outside.


“Fiction is a vampire.”



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