Shoot for the stars
The ones
You cannot see
They are out there
Faith is the proof
Of the unseen

Don't fret over
Silly perfection
God always lets weeds
amongst his roses
More attractive to
Bees, birds,
And butterflies

Worry not
for morrow's arrival
And watch your
Load of baggage
Traveling lightly
As I have told
Your brother

Love all you do
Take love too
For it will
Guide you
Straight outta
Any kinda hell

©  2017 Jim Davis

It is cold outside
and a small figure hides
trying to keep warm.

There is a fellow
with a cardboard sign
not preaching about
the end of times
just trying find a dime
to eat.

There is another guy
trying to get by
on his minimum wage
nine to five.

There is a foreigner.
There is somebody’s wife.
There are a ton of struggles
in this transient life.

Do not look deep
into those dark eyes
for if you peer inside
seeing past
the blast of
black and white
if you see
another person
you might have to become
a decent human being.

I gave someone an inch, they dragged me for miles.
Called me "*******"; some laughed but no one smiled.
Now I'm suffering like this, this bastardized trial.
Lovers that hit while they kiss its the standard I've reviled
I'm tired. I admit I'm soured to the pit.
But this fire that's within is like the flowers to the kids.

I can see it in your eyes
That you just keep telling me
The same old lies
And you don't know
How it hurts
To know someone
Whom you love
Stab you at the back
And leave you there bleeding
How does it make you happy

It's the same every time
Waking up in a panic
The hangover's dull
Gradual throbbing
The amplification of existence's malaise
Reducing my feet
To a slow shuffle

My girlfriend has been calling it the same way
For six years
"You'll get up and check your wallet and make sure you have your keys"
And I do
She's beautiful because she's right
She's also gorgeous
But continually right

I get up and slip my fingers into the
Many compartments of my wallet
Making sure I feel the greasy
Cold plastic of the credit cards

The three IDs
One to drive a car
One to carry a gun
One to count as a person

And the flood of relief I feel
When I finger these plastic cards
Is alarming
How my mind jumps from jovial
Drunken thoughts
To hard
Plastic ones
In the midst of sleep
At ungodly hours of the morning

My identity personified
In polyurethane rectangles

I get back into bed
And again
After confirming that all
The clasps that keep the mask
Snug to my face
Are still there

I embrace her warmth
Under the thin comforter
She drapes her leg across me
While I kiss her forehead
"You smell like liquor"
Before browning out again

You mixed together
empty promises, white lies,
false hopes, and half truths.

© Matthew Harlovic

my son is a better version of me

i easily break
he rides storms smilingly

i crumble in a crisis
he handles stoically

my emotions play loud on face
he hides it handsomely

i'm doubtful of exploring
he ventures courageously

i speculate on life too much
he bothers not seriously