Bells are ringing softer, quick, pray to the skies,
One’s damnation found in the pupil’s eyes.
Does man dream of heaven, scribbling through time?
Gives away the paper that he gently wipes
Tears of guilty burden, takes small sips of wine.
Forced once by another, worship what is strange,
Never to ask questions, answers aren’t there.
Cries of terror, children are forced to obey
All these silly pictures, dare they speak again
Like once might have happened, who alas was there?
Woman’s taming ardour is one’s fool kept charm
From dark wicked monsters, they do only harm,
Gets torture and laughter: “My life isn’t mine,
They reshape and mock then, old age seems a crime,
Dare they punish mothers?”, she breaks shrine-divine.
From God-sent, no angel finds chapels a shelter,
Same old broken bridge, dull swimmers deny,
Give and be forgiven, don’t you dare be sly
With these holy lies; lover same as other
Stoned and nailed, poor martyrs, then buried alive…
A deer bursts in bleeding on the chapel’s floor
In awe as I witness, sweet miracle’s born:
No one helps, on benches, pray for their mistakes
Closer and then slower, creature cries for me;
Fear is not my center, blessed with clown-proof knee!
I, then leave, set fire to these memories
That brought only terror to minds shaped to be
Swinging, back to Caphtor, in dryness it seems
Better than some other washed-out faith, sweet dreams
To unbothered folks, then rule the abyss.
Source: The Creation of Adam (Sistine Chapel) by Michelangelo Buonarotti