The Gallery Poem by Adam Hollingsworth

I will find
A center in you,
The portrait, by
My other side.
I will listen
To your words,
Manipulate my eyes.
Aesthetically, it pleads
To the senses
Of
My
Mind.
Now, I leave, the informed lies
Of
Life.

Great
Screaming Christ!
Lazy Mary will deject all
The elated, of our pathetic time.
The mindless voice has spoken thrillfully,
While death makes angels of us
All. Unplanned, bound,
In a strange
Hour,

A search for wisdom, lost to a decrepit flower.

Did you know
Madmen run our
Prisons? Ignorance is
A cheap drug, but,
Who’s to say?
I’m drawn into
A concept of circles,
Hypnotized by a
Hugh of pale
Meaningless
Summer
Colors.
The strange voices we hear, coming
From the center
Of
A
Canvas…
So,
Immaculate and sinless,
Like
A spell,
A flower…
Roads in hell.
Or,
The will to power.

Smooth as ravens claws…
It’ll draw you in.