Post by Eclipse on Apr 12, 2004 17:05:35 GMT -5
had to write something about the Reniassance (spelling?) for a history class. this is what i came up with. ^.^
Genius and Insanity
What stupendous mind, walked a line
Thin and tottering, between the remarkable and the insane?
If someone made it, then first they had to dream it.
So let’s at least mutter his name.
Michelangelo, so long ago, suspended in his dreams.
Laid upon his back, and with delicate strokes, expressed.
All the visions of cherubs dancing ‘round in his troubled head.
So in his painting, lay all his dreams confessed.
And such beauty they hold, along with breath.
When stumbling in; capturing perfection and its grace.
The angels dancing high above to the rhythm
Of echoes and the look upon each face.
So here we go (no flash photography please.)
Discovering what lays on the ceiling and the walls.
Holy creatures in picturesque scenes, and vistas
With blues like waterfalls.
Such handsome people of pulchritude.
And colors with such hue, as to shock the mind and eye.
Hands grasping hands and touching fingertips.
In nudity. (Not much surprise.)
The vast expanse of such a canvas; oh such a gift.
To be given the plain and concoct such a creation.
And leave such a mark to be remembered.
To inspire artists of the next generation.
In a time of growth and great rebirth.
And to be recognized above all the rest.
For a little paint and a little sweat in the walls of a church,
Now considered one of the best.
Genius and Insanity
What stupendous mind, walked a line
Thin and tottering, between the remarkable and the insane?
If someone made it, then first they had to dream it.
So let’s at least mutter his name.
Michelangelo, so long ago, suspended in his dreams.
Laid upon his back, and with delicate strokes, expressed.
All the visions of cherubs dancing ‘round in his troubled head.
So in his painting, lay all his dreams confessed.
And such beauty they hold, along with breath.
When stumbling in; capturing perfection and its grace.
The angels dancing high above to the rhythm
Of echoes and the look upon each face.
So here we go (no flash photography please.)
Discovering what lays on the ceiling and the walls.
Holy creatures in picturesque scenes, and vistas
With blues like waterfalls.
Such handsome people of pulchritude.
And colors with such hue, as to shock the mind and eye.
Hands grasping hands and touching fingertips.
In nudity. (Not much surprise.)
The vast expanse of such a canvas; oh such a gift.
To be given the plain and concoct such a creation.
And leave such a mark to be remembered.
To inspire artists of the next generation.
In a time of growth and great rebirth.
And to be recognized above all the rest.
For a little paint and a little sweat in the walls of a church,
Now considered one of the best.
