Okay, I was pleasantly surprised to discover that the great and magnifico Michelangelo actually wrote POETRY too!! So here are three poems by him (of the ones that I've read so far) that I thought everyone would enjoy, or at least not barf at...
ps. Had a dream that Gackt said that I was the whinyest and most ugly human being he had ever met... it made me sad.
Michelangelo Poetry
11
How shall I dare, my love,
Without your presence keep myself alive,
If, when I leave you, my lips do not dare
Utter a word to tell you my despair?
Those sobs, those sighs, those tears,
With which, my lady, I brought you my heart, ---
Did they not tell you how my death was near,
And all my bitter smart?
But lest you should forget, when I am far,
That I am still your servant, --- as a sign
Of love --- O keep my heart no longer mine.
12
Your heart is only merciless deceit,
Though well it hides its inner bitterness.
Your word, a thing of time, can last far less
Than a fair blossom when the spring is sweet.
Time in its speed assigns the hours that fleet, ---
The most effective poisonous distress
Of life (a sickle for the hay, unless
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
A human word is empty, beauty brief,
And they seem destined to fade out together,
Just as your sin together with my fears
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
It would have to be so, through our years.
41
I feed on my own death, and yet I feel
Quite happy in my own unhappiness.
Let those who want to shun death or distress
Learn from this fervor I cannot conceal.
42
Who makes me die, he also makes me live:
The more a flame is fed by wood or breath,
The more, while killing me, he spares me death,
And the greater the joy that I receive.
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