in the age of modernity,
I remember
the sympathetic ink
that, when set alight,
produced a message.
fire danced on paper,
and brought hope to a hopeless soul.

will my fortune reveal itself,
or will it lie hidden in the caves?

he was a man with no shadow
and the light began to swallow him
whole
he couldn't see at all
he was a man who walked far
and the sand began rise to his
chest
he didn't have rest
he
    was
            a
                man
                     with
                            no
shadow
but this wasn't always the case
until he won the
race
everyone knows him
everyone feels like they know
his struggle
they grow restless when they see
his stubble
he
   was
        a
         man
              with
                     a
shadow
but that has been faded
to time.

What an appalling yearning it is...
I feel as my spirit will tear apart my presence
to fly where at the moment it would have to be,
breaking all the chains of reality
My life is addicted to you
What a hard conflict...
What a tough task...
Like a  patient in a deathbed
I need a 'lifeogen' mask.
I had to be moving to you at the moment,
After a while, I had to be sitting waiting for peace
And you had to be coming in
With your warm greetings...

Now, life is beginning there,
Vitality is filling empty spheres
with your blissful voice and laughter
But none of those existing dumbs
can feel it
Someone is sitting face to face with you
Where once I was sitting
Haven't you still felt the difference?!
Haven't you still found out the case?!
Anyone can take my seat,
But no one can take my place...

Can I forgive myself for my selfishness?!
I am sometimes very egoist and ingrate!
You are laughing, you are happy now
and you feel great,
that is the main point.
I scold myself and evade all of my cravings
You know me - I am the soldier of fortune...
Keep your shining and just only laugh, please...

It is the future I claim to decipher
a musky room, smoke and magic
or are they mirrors? The atmosphere
is crystal and you sit shaky, your palm
impenetrable stone, ringed
and telling

The lines crumple and twist in curving
layers, spiralling out of
control over plains and deserts
and curving, like the others,
over hills and streams and folding lines,
an intricate map undiscovered

Exploding colour starts to fade
I guess the weather has a say in the
brilliant red, soft pink, silky beige
but the painted shells are your design.
I gaze, and my voice is the mercury
at your tips

Your eyes are orbs in the gold, shining citrine
despite the rust under the table
it is the future I claim to decipher,
And the stone of your palm is bleeding

Fortune steps my way but it trips and falls cos shes clumsy
Then the ground comes up to meet my face by default
Lying on the floor but my feelings rise
Yours come meet mine and take me by surprise
Why do we fall with her?
She means nothing at all
Why do we fall for her?
She makes life a hell

Good fortunes arrive
as misfortune subsides
Or is it a mistake
I still haven't decided
even unto this day

I hesitate and reflect
on all that is happening
To think it all through
then quickly to act
post-haste
There to avoid
that fatal mistake

Time was when
with a burst and a flash
I then attained my goals
but lost my love
and my good life

Yet still I must
and yes I will
complete the course
set out for myself

To succeed and prosper
within the domain
of goodness
Remaining there
within goodness
sustained.


-R.

(10.24.17)
-LA

papa said, we should never forget
where we came from
and who we came with
so I abstain from the famous.
I'll take painfully plain
over one of those faces,
painted with abrasion
so much talent is wasted
because the palette is tainted
- just for the occasion -
it amazes me how
we're lost in the matrix
because the mind plays tricks
when you toss in hatred.

© Matthew Harlovic

People said he was demented
Who strode past their dignity
He was happy and decorated
It’s more likely, they’d say so
They weren’t illiterate or unaware
They were taught, from the beginning
These men aren’t humans, beggars
He lies in the street paths
Poverty taught him kindness
To be simple and be thankful
For every penny he thanked
But the ones who warded him off
Still craving for more
Believed they were cursed
And not thankful for the fortunes
Let us be silent for their greed
That will perish with death

One day it will erupt
and turn this city into grave - I say.

No one believes a fortune-teller,
no one wants to face the fate.
They won’t leave Pompeii,
nothing can make them go,
there's no place like this
in the whole Rome.

Nothing will make them leave,
only fools run away from paradise.
They are singing and drinking wine,
girls are dancing and music's playing.

I wish I didn't know how it will end,
I wish I was one of them.

I'll pour some wine into the glass
and down it as fast as I can,
and then I'll have another one,
and another one.
I'll be singing with them, dancing.
I'll kiss a girl and then I'll sleep with her,

I will be trying to forget it.

It has been a couple of weeks
since the rigor of being McGregor
boiled down to nothing,
and Mayweather
had an Irma of punches
ricochet off of him.

I recollect this seemingly regular
pre-big-match rumor,
that the game was arranged.
These verdicters
pronounced a loss for Conor.
If so, Mc. man there
took way too many hits for the money.

Now that McGregor is left for dead,
and verily, Floyd
may or may not have added
a few more Lamborghinis
from the Billion bucks prize !!!
Many fortunes have changed.

I've fallen deep down
into this cemetery
where my thoughts lay dead,
and from the abyss sprout up a paradox
that stands for all fortunes:
We all fish in the same waters;
if one stirs a ripple,
driving the fishes away,
another is gifted a school without much labor.