PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

There stood Monolith,
just past Erie's Backbone and beyond;
its grip tightened upon the farmland and
drew from it curiosities and profit.
Freedom withstood
in the Flatlands at large and on,
but it was a clear threat perceived and
worried over at nearly every post.

There in high towers
made of white iron and colored glass,
a good doctor had stood and heard words
spoken by wise men with a wealth of strange ideas.
They said he was needed
in order to understand the mind of a boy,
eligible and elected for a kind of experiment;
its purpose at large left muddled to him.
Doctor Montion Maynard,
among colleagues and friends who
had recommended he, the faithful shrink,
buckled to the needs of such an endeavor.

Little time was taken
to truly get to know the captive boy,
as we all suspected he was temporary.
Such ambition often leads to unintentional harm.
But as he was devoured by the light,
we all sought to steal a glance from another,
hoping to find blame to cast or reassurance
from anyone beyond the crazed voice in our minds.
All machines then lived,
and then fell silent after belching smoke or flame.
The dripping echoed voice had ceased,
and we felt our stable grip return to us.

The room was emptied,
burned and sealed behind wide metal doors.
Smells of scorching plastics rose through halls
and forced us to evacuate entirely.
Distant, flickering cries
could be heard for many days afterwards,
and the feeling of static was always abundant
when near the place where Daniel had gone.

They spoke of the Theorized Space;
had claimed it able to be sought and found
and probed as if a place on Earth,
but with no rules and no limitations.
Most suspected Daniel dead,
but some insist on claiming grand success,
"Of course he's gone to the other side!
There wasn't a trace of him left to discover!"

The good doctor wept,
and now slumps to the floor often,
unsure of noise that wakes him in the evening;
it often drips as if submerged in the sea.