A poem with five
moras above and below
and seven above.

© Matthew Harlovic

I’m not a smooth talker,
I can’t sweep you off your feet
but I’ll walk with you longer
than your shadow does down the street.

© Matthew Harlovic

You were always on the tip of your toes,
balancing on thin air,
positioning your center
of mass directly over the
base of your support circle,
edging your way from point
A to point B as you objectified
the manner of manipulation,
and yet I still managed to fall for you.
And you, *you were always on the tip of my tongue,
but when you asked if
I would be there for you
if and when you fall,
I lost my footing.
For the reason that
you meant it in a way that
would associate me as a form of webbing,
a safety net per se and I watched you
walk on thin air for years, but I will not
wait for you to fall because I’m here for you
as a friend, not a cobweb.

© Matthew Harlovic

Time is measured
by the length of blade
from the strength of the stone
to the parting day.
Time is treasured
by the angst of a sage
from the shade of the sun
to its passing age.

© Matthew Harlovic

My younger self; he,
as hard-headed as a ram
takes life by the horns.

© Matthew Harlovic

Is it considered ******
to uproot a sapling before
it digs its roots into the Earth?

© Matthew Harlovic