A Steampunk Story: Iron Heart

~ Jennica Marie Lim


There was a town ruled by machines and dusts,
where the midnight air smells of oil and rust.
In the heart of that town you would faintly hear,
every night the faded clamour of steel and gears.

The curious sound is from a scruffy house,
limping in the middle of a sleepy town it rouse,
With brilliant flicker of light and spark,
that casts eerie shadows in the dreary dark.

And in that home lives an ingenious man,
who creates wondrous things with his hands.
He can make bolts, cogs and brass collide,
with a twist of the wrench they become alive.

From talking computers and flying wings,
to a walking bed and automated swings.
The inanimate heap of useless things,
on his crafty hands they dance and spring.

But the greatest invention he had ever made,
was a life like splendour of beautiful maid.
With hands so gentle, and skin so pale,
and eyes that glimmers behind the sooted veil.

What drove a mind to create such a thing?
it was love consumed by pains within.
Compelled by a heart wrecked by the war,
that slain the woman this man desire.

Thus he had loved nothing more,
than this mechanical body of coil and ore.
Whom with his heart he truly adores,
like the woman he had loved and lost before.

People rumoured that he was insane,
to love such soulless body that rusts and wanes.
With oil for blood and an engine for a heart,
no matter what he repairs, love cannot start.

But he was stubborn and stood unmoved,
the sea of scorn and laughter he withstood.
He did not care what others would say,
for as long as they are together, he too will stay.

But a day came when the tales were changed,
after the first dawn of May they came,
The marching enemies of greed from the north
in the mid of the slumbering city they came forth.

Smashing the town with bombs and gas,
with their robotic monsters of myrrh and brass.
Destroying the dwellings into shards and bits,
leaving not a trace, not a hope to keep.

A swooping tower hit the limp house on its core,
in the mid of the ingenious man's rowdy snore.
Half the house went crashing down with a bang,
and for his dear life, from the edge he hang.

And deep below where he ought to slip,
is a massive burst of fire that spits,
Molten rock, wood and burning ash,
that no man would live should he crash.

But before his hands had lost the grip,
two gentle hands went to down to lift,
The frightened man back into his feet,
and saw his iron lady smiling so sweet.

When they are about to run and escape,
the uneven ground trembled and quaked,
And alas! The lady made of coil and ore,
fell in the fire and into pieces she was torn.

By the next day when the enemies were gone,
everything was still and the rampage was done,
In the breaking of the sunlight in the sober morn,
the survivors saw a silhouette hanging from a door.

The man did not die because of the wounds he had,
nor from the blasts and guns of the cruel squads.
But when the man's heart was ripped into shreds,
the damage can be too much to bear or mend.

And so the stories went on to last,
about a man who crafted a mechanical lass,
That within its iron heart sparked a glint of soul,
to save the man who made her whole.

There used to be a town ruled by machines and dusts,
and the myth says that the air smells of oil and rust.
That in that town you would sometimes hear,
a warm lullaby of a man and a lady made of gears.