23.01.2007, 23:01
Zum 500.sten von Michelangelos David
This silly game of marbles is played out,
a stranger´s hand has shot it to its end,
with his first stroke he built up a redoubt,
which none will overcome and none can mend.
Five centuries are gone around the bend,
since Buonarotti broke him out of jail,
to show the world what none could comprehend,
but he saw clearly through the stony veil:
Smooth, fluent lines, a dreamboat of a male
reposes with a look, “Come, make my day”,
impacted by this stone all gazers pale,
his slingshot hits from centuries away.
I `m sure both had the mystic`s inner eye,
their hands are still, - yet still - their missiles fly.
This silly game of marbles is played out,
a stranger´s hand has shot it to its end,
with his first stroke he built up a redoubt,
which none will overcome and none can mend.
Five centuries are gone around the bend,
since Buonarotti broke him out of jail,
to show the world what none could comprehend,
but he saw clearly through the stony veil:
Smooth, fluent lines, a dreamboat of a male
reposes with a look, “Come, make my day”,
impacted by this stone all gazers pale,
his slingshot hits from centuries away.
I `m sure both had the mystic`s inner eye,
their hands are still, - yet still - their missiles fly.
Never sigh for a better world it`s already composed, played and told