Later Pieta (Michelangelo)
I bear this weight with dignity,
For meaning is in symmetry –
Or so it seemed that way, when I
Could easily command plasticity.
I chiselled him – the crucified –
As handsome then: a slumbering lord,
And Mary still resplendent in
Her prime, and poised, and aureoled
In draperies. But now he droops
As heavy as a corpse will be,
And she, wrapped up against the cold,
Just clutches at this clod, her son.
I had to come in person and
Join in this undertaking, but
I’m growing old, and now don’t know
Where beauty is. And that’s the truth.