The h2g2 Poem
Created | Updated Jan 12, 2006
The Story of Pattern
The Pattern woke in hospital
In medicated dawn.
It saw itself in mirror-light—
Miraculously born.
It knew not how to answer
The questions of the time.
It had not thought nor reason
For the pattern of its rhyme.
It lurked within the coffee-shop—
It watched the TV glare.
It rearranged the senses
With its deep magnetic stare.
And everyone that met it
Did see the world anew.
It lives on in their memory—
Through all they say and do.
The Pattern filled the moment
With monkey-crazy wonder.
It scattered kisses everywhere—
And logic broke asunder.
The Pattern died in hospital—
In medicated haze.
It left behind the imprint
Of the pattern of its days.
An insect-shadow on the wall
Did slink into a crack.
The fragments of the fractured night
Were indigo and black.
Metallic ghosts and skeletons
Are sculptures turned to rust.
Let's wrap our hearts in snakeskin
And leave patterns in the dust!
The Pattern woke in hospital
In medicated dawn.
It saw itself in mirror-light—
Miraculously born.
