A Poem - Sculptor
A Poem about “David” and Michelangelo.
He chisels
till the life in the stone begins to breathe on its own
He chisels his own life
to give it a life
The man in the stone opens his eyes
Puts its feet where they belong
and glares at him and said
“I’m ready”
Wipe the sweat off his brow
Rubs his gnarled hand with another one
Dust on the shoulder untouched still
He steps down the ladder and said
“Done”
Afterthoughts:
Sculptors, painters, poets, and writers. They are all artists. Only the finished forms are different. The way to tell if it is finished or not is probably the same. They know the moment the work is finished.
Me? I think I am getting to know it better.
Further reading:
Michaelangelo
David
Contrapposto