Michael Angelo and His Image
One does not think
And why should I being brought so near
Death's calamity upon the visage bare
But even at the brink
There is still a drop of hope left
Or why would the living carry it
Of energy, form and beauty bereft
Clinging, claiming the upright spirit
Yes, why should one think
How much blood it cost
If that was all at the brink
A living soul had lost
For even marble death tells dread
That body is drained, is bled
Of every sinews of life
How could one think ... with fear so rife?
Copyright © L'Nass Shango | Year Posted 2009
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