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Paint What?
- TCU Press
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-58Paint What? Each and every endless day For weeks that had become months, He rose from his meager bed Before the first glimmer of that Glorious light he loved so well And walked again through the silent, Early morning to the chapel. He there climbed the rickety scaffolding, High into the sky inside the chapel, To the place where he had Yesterday stopped his labor Because the light had faded, And he had lain on his back, painting Until he could no longer raise his right arm. The glorious light Had just touched the spot Where he had left off yesterday, When he arrived at the small pillow Upon which he would lay his head Until the light was gone And he could no longer raise his right arm. On his back, hour on hour, Day after day, months into years. One day I shall finish this, he thinks, As he hears the huge doors of the chapel Swing open in the sacred darkness below him. He hears the voice of the Pope, His employer, shouting from below, -59- “Michael, What the hell are you doing up there? I asked you to paint the chapel cistern!” Michael shouts down to the Pope, “May I finish this first?” It shouldn’t take more than 200 years, Give or take. Copyright © 2007 Steven Fromholz ...