Creation hath worked its mastery
Into the existence we know as our own.
We are as the statue of David if he were
To claim his existence free from Michelangelo’s hand,
We are a work of perfection that has the ability to deny
Our creator, nature hath a power to paint a picture,
A picture born with the ability to deny its painter
Any right to claim its existence lay within the imagination
Of the artist.
True art takes upon a life of its own,
Its home within the heart of the observer,
Those un-reserved enough to allow the
Canvas marble to speak unto their Hearts.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Michelangelo’s hand was surely evident to the statue of David, throughout it's own evolution. However, for this piece to hold water, we must consider the possibility of a 'Creator'. At the end of the day, Faith is once more on trial, otherwise art lies only with the spiritual? Thought provoking, David. Danny