Michelangelo

It took Michelangelo
To find where David was hidden
In a chunk of rock–
To chip and scrape away
All that was not
The shephard king.

It took Michelangelo
To find the finger of God
By placing on
The sameness of a ceiling
Those blends of particulars
That made Adam.

It took Michelangelo
To find a mother grieving,
Holding her sacrificial lamb,
Entombed in stone,
Awaiting ressurection
In eyes and hands.

I like it.

Only a hand obedient to the mind can find anything in this fuck-foresaken plane. For me, to know that countless loves and prisoners are trapped in stone is my curse, as the years tick by and my artist nature slowly chokes on pills & paperwork.

Freeing the sublime from stone, releasing the lovers and the Gods from dust and doom is the artist’s job. The Universe is a creative force and to be like the Universe is our only rebuttal. May time unwind itself and mundane turn to tuesday, where my pen will dance once more, to the beatless rhythm of god’s master plan.

Gamer

All the beats and all the rhythms come from his or are carried away by the wind. 'Course, I’m no Beethoven.

Thanks, Rainey.
Gamer,
Your words are poetry. You have done what you said you couldn’t do–sounded your voice out of the predominant senselessness and silence!

A nice verse to express the work of a great sculptor…

And artist.
Thanks, Magsj.

How artistic inspiration occurs…