Author's Note: This is a reflection on Michelangelo's life. Tell me what
you think, please

A Tortured Mind
By Corrine H.

Sin, that is what you call it
I see you tormented by the thought
Your eyes have lost their luster
You think your life is ruined, I think not

Your hands are worn and calloused
Paint is splattered on your nails
I sense in you a tortured mind
your soul lets out a wail

You where once young and strong
your heart and mind where one
your face covered in marble dust
content with a job well done

Your art was not that of the brush
but along the lines of the chisel
your masterpiece was the pieta
This chapel is just a scribble

In your art you reflected your hate
You hated your self for an unknown reason
You thought yourself not worthy of heaven
but to deny you that would surly be treason

You where the man I admired for so long
and to this day your defeater of Goliath stands tall above the rest
You were the creator of David's song
Your art has passed the test

One day you where sent to paint the ceiling in Rome
You considered it your Hell
A new and lively Fresco
was all that time could tell

You said you had no talent in the art of paints
and thought of them to be crude for their mockery of life
But behold the surprise of Leonardo when you beat him at the gates
The pharmacist, the Rival to beat was what you strived

The world celebrated your name
But you thought yourself unworthy
You where a prisoner to your so called sins
You thought your soul was dirty

I saw you in a empty corridor
Your body bent from a weight you carry
like a marble cage, you are locked inside
Your sorrow was as great as the Virgin Mary

"Michelangelo!", I call in vain
Happiness you never did find
But God's gift you surely did have
but its payment was a tortured mind