[Please note that this is a parody of Percy Shelley’s “England in 1819”. It places his philosophies and constructs in the modern world and satirizes them.]
A sad, angsty, bewildered, misunderstood, and frustrated boy
Romantic at heart, the product of a fortunate face and a mischievous mind, that ponders
The integrity of social justices; How God walked the halls of University,
Knowing not the dissociation between his love for knowledge and his unwavering hold on power,
Calling it blasphemy to marry the arts with the scientific
Segregating a love which only the Socratic could call lust.
How far would you wander to see the two consecrated?
Born again through your ideals, as a product of your own romances?
You knew not of Camus, nor Sartre or Bataille; lingering yonder in the morrow
Nor how they two would hide their ideals between their teeth;
A lie bound tightly by what the “Virgin” Mary would call promiscuity
Borne again through Creatures and Monsters, playing God between graves
“But behold,” still you preface, Frankenstein in hand, “This touches not the philosophical. Nor the modern day, somewhere in the distance.”