What Michelangelo Thought
After Michelangelo had finished his work on the Sistine Chapel he wrote a poem of his agony during the painting of this Sistine Chapel.  
  
  
I've got myself a goiter from this strain,  
As water gives the cats in Lombardy  
Or maybe it is in some other country;  
My belly's pushed by force beneath my chin.  
   
My beard toward Heaven, I feel the back of my brain  
Upon my neck, I grow the breast of a Harpy;  
My brush, above my face continually,  
Makes a splendid floor by dripping down.  
   
My Lins have penetrated to my paunch,  
My rump's a crupper, as a counterweight,  
And pointless the unseeing steps I go.  
   
In front of me my skin is being stretched   
While it folds up behind and forms a knot,  
And I am bending like a Syrian bow.  
   
And judgment, hence must grow,  
Borne in mind, peculiar and untrue;  
You cannot shoot well when the gun's askew.  
   
John, come to the rescue  
Of my dead painting now, and of my honor;  
I'm not in a good place, and I'm no painter.