Author's note: This poem exemplifies my tendency to over-think and find symbolism in just about anything. Maybe that's not such a bad thing, maybe it is, I don't know, its just me. Anyway, I wrote this poem one night after playing through FF7(again). Somehow, those shivering, pathetic Jenova-clones in the third act struck something in me and this poem is the result. You like? Don't get it? Drop me a line, a.k.a review.

***
Road to Jenova
***
I am error,

created to be frail.
Stop my heart, you could, by breathing.

At last rest it would become a thing of beauty,

a walnut in your hands' hollow,

gelid, still, unmoving.

So easily is the death of the lab born.

***

But shudders through me the call,

endless ache from rebel cells:

Move, they say,

come to completeness.

***

And so my heels break on this brittle shale,

as green and unholy wind shakes what's left of me

apart from the thing that is not me.

***

And I fall,

tasting bitter earth and almonds,

And the last thoughts I think,

I think as my hybrid brain burns itself alive, struggling

***
blackened and weak

like the thick and autumnous fly that is dragging itself

dragging itself across my eye,

into the opening infinity

that is now, as I had thought,

been suddenly made

vaporous, singular.