A Thief Called Sisyphus

In the valley of despair made fertile by inadequacy 

there lived a thief who set eyes on an angel on the hill

He knew the celestial was forbidden but doom's string pulled at him

He decided to recreate an earthly Angel and with that let his last vision fill 

Roaming the world he learnt all the different coarse and fine arts 

Elevated his crass country tact to an elite gentlemanly charm 

Returned home expecting a new name to suit his new taste 

but even with his loot of skills there was the same old qualm

He began assembling his antique, swindling the shine of stars for eyes 

Carefully blowing the stolen scent of lilies to mimic the sweet breath 

Stripping the air of its grace to impart deftness to the fingers 

Slipping in thick honey to imitate the lips and their sultry warmth 

He raided Vinci's drawers for colours to capture the perfect face 

Pinched Michaelangelo's tools to sculpt the muscle's subtle curve 

Cheating Tartini's sheet for the voice as it was music to his ears 

Catching conceits to describe the beauty from Donne's oeuvre

Still his creation is nowhere close to what he remembered 

it was not even an image of the one who lived in his heart 

The elusive Angel remained as unatinable as before grinning mischievously

but he would never give up his belief on the immense power of art 

He tried to find more to compare to better his attempt 

Centuries would pass in seconds as he would work in vain

lost in memory of the same old spectacular sight he would not forget

He would happily try and fail and fall in love, again and again and again