Ancient halls lined with older frames
Girdled with crimson wallpaper,
golden wood.
Look how they stare
These ancient people.
Look how they see you
the same today as you were years ago.
Reach out and refrain
from touching your hero’s strokes
Shielded by guard and glass.
These halls teem with aliens and lovers
These frames speak to some,
Inspiration for more.
Speak to me oil on canvas.
What are you saying all these years later?
What do you pronounce, figure in red?
Naked landscape, distorted person?
Is it possible humans have not changed
As formed, beautiful, as disturbing.
Boy aged 11, who did you become?
Silneus what do you think?
Has Cupid ceased his carnage?
Sit in everyone’s way,
until your paint has spoken.
Then move back
into your gallery world.
Callan Anthony | 26-02-2024