The Monster

I was mute. Rough stitchwork, crude limbs hacked at
And woven together. All features flat,
Dull, lifeless and now corrupted; sewn in
To a corpse, by a trustless wicked grin.
Who could stare at such a face? As thunder
Surged and vaulted and drove me alive, the
Creator’s gruesome face stared on; loomed
Urgent, expectant, distant, and now doomed.