The Gallery

This is no Michael Angelo; I am all flesh and bone

No marble carving can depict my supple features

It’s my own face

No chisel can sculpt me for I am a work of my own art

 

I met with David and Pietà frozen in time

Still-life spoke no words, but I could hear them

They spoke on reflection of an artist’s perspective

Assuring me; they too were flesh and bone

He molded their face to a masterpiece

 

Strokes of wholesome beauty were crafted

And his Last Judgment dangles his wilted skin for all to see

We will rise to our fates and Christ will come again

 

This is no Michael Angelo

I have hewed my own countenance

For I am a paragon of virtue

And I lay bare for all those to see my foundation