Michelangelo has finished the chapel wall

I'm looking Jesus in the eye,
I painted him revealing fate,
His final judgement;
I'm still worrying about the colour
of His eyes.
The ceiling nearly killed me,
each evening tears of every shade
were splattered on my face,
my back bore each impression
of the scaffold.
Now Creation, Eden, Noah's flood
echo every morning in my body,
just looking at them makes me giddy;
it's easier to read the Bible now.

I didn't dream that twenty years later
I 'd be asked to do the wall,
as if the vault was somehow not enough.
And so the day of judgement has arrived,
it'll take a while to dry, but it's been worth it -
if this doesn't make them think
then nothing ever will;
my naked colours, His commandment,
and this time it only made my arms ache.
Is this Sistine marathon of art
a testimony to my faith?
My faith, not theirs,
they don't know what I really think -
or where I got the paint.