God Made a Mistake
At an ancient wooden desk,
Inherited from another monk long dead,
In the lowest basement of the library,
By dim candlelight,
Alec pored over every volume on dinosaurs,
In the monastery’s vast archive.
Watercolor illustrations,
Of titanic beasts,
Engaged in combat,
Tending to their young,
Or grazing in a field at dusk.
Alec pined for a time,
He’d never seen.
Other monks,
Mocked his eccentric obsession,
But they couldn’t see what Alec saw.
A world of giants,
Unmarred by vanity,
Unrestrained by conscious,
Lives of simplicity,
And purpose.
Eat,
Sleep,
Mate,
Eat,
Sleep,
Mate,
Eat,
Sleep,
Mate,
And look both horrifying,
And beautiful while doing it.
He’d have fancied being a dinosaur.
Perhaps a Sauropod,
His trunk-like neck,
Looking down upon the land,
Like a god watching his kingdom.
Perhaps a Therapod
With Razor-Sharp Teeth,
Visiting his wrath,
Upon powerless subjects.
Or Maybe a Ceratopsian,
Stout muscular body,
Sword-like horns and a spiky-frill,
To serve as his crown.
What majestic power,
What ruthless style,
What perfect creatures.
God made a mistake,
The day he killed them.
Alec mourned for the dinosaurs.
