The sky like glass
the oceans silver,
the meandering streams
ever passing like fading dreams.

Now who will paint the midnight stars?
Who will illuminate this darkness?

Who will free those chained captives
and portray the color of their life?
Who will paint the sky with stars
and uncover the mysteries
of the galaxy's so far.

A voyager or traveler?
an adventurer or pilgrim?

Nay none but the hands
of beauty and light,
will ever touch brush to sky.

Yet the two
light and beauty betrayed the stars.
They forgot their love
and broke a legion of hearts.

They left them to die
to fade darkened as the darkening sky.
They left those precious gems forgotten
purged of light,
stripped of beauty.

The stars in turn one by one
fell deep into the abyss.
Burning shamefully
forever it seemed cast out of bliss.

Great was the lament of the sky
the day it was robbed of its pearls.
Barren of beauty love and light.
And there it sank
deep into the dark cold gray sea.

Slowly, sorrowfully
it sank deep, deep, deep
into the dark cold seas.


Night has brought those who sleep
golden warmth forever to keep,
It has wooed them to sleep
and caressed them there
in the softness of the deep.

Sleepless tormented and frail
Those the ones who yield not to hail.
Those the ones who do not look up
Those the ones whose evils fill their cup.

Oh lover of the night
mischievous beauty
Oh darkening shadow
oh fading light.



Your glory was once breath taking
your eminence eye opening.
Your beauty desired above all else
your light above all eternal.

Like a unfinished work
or a half built home,
you are now neglected
faded into black
The chance was yours
hope flew upon your shoulders.
The sky a white blank canvas
the stars yearning to be painted

And yet you oh beauty
you oh love,
forgot those precious gems.

You forgot the power that they had
you forgot the love that they shared.

And for your sins
eternal damnation
will be placed upon
your wretched heads

For you are the murderers
of those starry lights
You are the killers
of the love filled nights.

Lovers now cease to love
Dreamers now dream no more
of the heavens above.
Your sins have bound you
to an eternity of flame,
From here on our
you life will never be the same.

On that day that cursed day,
when the devils triumph was great
When the heavens fell
and beauty and love made their foolish fate.

The sky fell deep into the sea
and there it laid for many days
and many nights.

Mourning the loss of beauty and love
mourning its fate mourning its doom.

And on that day that cursed day
when legions of devils
danced upon lovers hearts.

When the darkness
seemed brighter then the light.
When the ages of man
seemed to fall away.

When the very heavens broke loose
and the neck of life
breathed its last under
the chocking noose.




Then and there in the deepest of dungeons
a hope small and beautiful was sprung anew.

This hope
was not like any other ever known.
It was bright like fire
warm like the sun
fierce as the wolf
that never turns to run.

Like a furnace it billowed
and it burned.
It raged and roared
it smote all in its path.

It heaved and it sighed
and broke apart the fearful curse
That held captive the lovely sky
and kept it from you
and kept it from I.

It pierced through the darkness
it scorched the fear and broke its back.
This new hope bright as the sun
fierce as the wolf
took up the soft cold hand of the sky
held her close and lifted her high.

Lifted her out of the deep deep sea
lifted far out of the deep cold sea.

It raised her up on the wings of eagles
and carried her heart
to the safe havens of Elysium.
And with it the noble Hope
restored beauty, love
and light to the world.

Brought back the dreamers and the lovers
and returned the world
back to its rightful place.

And at the end of all things
the last and final deed
this chivalrous hope did do.
Was paint the glorious stars onto the sky
for me and for you.

This hope so fearsome
this hope so bright
this hope so great that it has saved the beauty
and has brought back the light.

The sky now once more does shine
the heavens so full with beauty.
If only if only
those jewels
those precious gems and jewels
of unimaginable worth
were truly mine.

Oh hope how marvelous a thing thou art
for you have painted the skies
with the most precious of stars.
And have filled this heart,
this heart with love.

Sometimes on particularly rainy days
I’ll find myself face down on a paper.
I’ll finger paint it will tear soaked pads
And I’ll brush a mosaic on my pillowcase
Letting
It
   Sink
           In
I’ll mail the blank page to your doorstep
And sleep comfortably in a sea of hasty brush strokes

Maybe this won’t change your life
But our secret will be kept safe.

I popped open a vein to paint my blues, violet

© Matthew Harlovic

Don't look at me and say you see
good,
They don't like that. The way
my hands are caked in colour. The way
the wall behind me is now
desecrated, they say, how can you
question those who wear
well with grain on their
lips?

The grain is their gun and
it's always on their
lips.

Only when the rain comes does the road I travel down reflect all light directed to it.
For in the hazy sheen given to all things
in such a dreary-gray drizzle all that shines
finds room to grow indefinitely.
The headlights, and the stoplights and the store lights and the city lights; the pretty lights
all tumble down and find themselves woven
or rather painted on every curbside, every parkway, every avenue and mainstay.
The intersections are much like a pool of paint and water,
giving birth to a shimmering iridescent daughter.
While in the cool of night when the water falls like air,
I can do nothing but stop a while and stare.
Only when the rain comes does the road I travel down reflect all light directed to it.
Not but a metaphor is this.

Seldom touched are the ways which we can circumnavigate ourselves.
So little searched are the depths at which the spirit dwells.
Yet quickly recognized is the truth that there is something truer than ourselves.
And all depends on how far the human delves;
Into light, into dark, into ruin, into joy, into peace, into war, into pain into pleasure.
Into life and death, into poverty and treasure.
For though we chase after only what may make us smile,
there is more required to make life worthwhile.
Though heartbreak and tears may last through the years
deliverance shall be sweeter still than any passive happiness.
Far more beautiful is life with its portion of strife
and far more worthy is man who has suffered.