Disclaimer: Sinister is not mine, but these musings attributed to him are, so no swiping.

By Dyce

I stand beneath the summer sun,

And feel the chill of winter snows.

No light or warmth in me takes hold,

No joy or peace in me resides.

I am darkness, I am death, and

I am life yet ever lasting.

Life in its unbraided beauty,

In its pure genetic form, is

My only joy and passion,

My cool and perfect art.

I was not born as I am now,

Emotionless, so crystal cold.

I yet recall the life and love,

That once destroyed Nathaniel.

Recall it - yet I feel it not, no

Passion runs beneath my skin,

For Nathaniel died long ago,

And all emotion died with him.

I do not love, I do not hate,

I feel no hope or pain or fear,

Such weakness cannot mark me now,

Deters me not from my great goal.

And yet... perhaps I tell a lie,

For one emotion I still feel,

Hunger that drives me ever on,

My need... desire... to create

Perfection in the shape of man.

To braid the genes so tenderly,

Mold them into breathing life,

Create perfection in my image,

And then I strive to better it.

I have not yet achieved my goal,

Though I have come so close, so close...

But flawed my every effort is.

Too weak, too strong, too slow, too swift,

I have not yet the balance found -

But when I do, the world shall tremble,

And lords and kings their heads bow down.

I succeed because I will it,

Because it is the path I choose.

There is nothing I need prove thereby,

No death that I need justify...

This is the path that I have chosen,

It is my will that has been done,

I feel no regret or weakness,

Standing in the summer sun.

(fin)