And the farm endured
seven fields to forty acres
the days of my father
saw grass and crops rotate
his toiling obsession now spent
gave way to a bigger scale

the old house storeyed
by one and a half
the bedroom where I slept
in the shadow of an older brother

the roof of grey slate
the peak of my world
reached my childhood sky

the overgrown garden
the consequence of labours elsewhere
the sycamore tree
my view of a world outside

I hate to sleep.

The monsters and demons and sins and wraiths run rampant in my mind, and my control is lost. Control is key. Every impulse, every little tiny thought, leads me closer to madness. Slumber is madness creeping in upon me when I cannot steal myself from it.

Late to bed, and early to rise, leaves the insanity hidden until the day she dies.

The walking, the talking, the revealing of my truest thoughts occur when in slumber, and I hate it. That's why I don't sleep, that's why I'm last, always last, because I know that's when the crazy comes to play.

Lust, Gluttony, Vanity, Envy, Wrath, Greed, Sloth. All seven swirl in my veins, with a chesire smile concealing the truth of them. They swirl in all veins, they play their devil games in the night for everyone, but for me, its different. It always will be.

Seven little friends swimming in my head, begging me to become someone I am not. I'm not in love, but the *** is good. The mirror is a comrade in arms. The green of my eyes is for more than just genetics. The fat on my legs has a secret agenda. I feel the sickness of anger in my heart but it never shows. My selfish wiles are secret, but they are there, always screaming. And when boredom creeps, I let the angels weep.

I hate slumber, for all seven play their seductive little games inside the holes in my head, and I can never be free of it. I fear who I am when I sleep, for its not the face I know.

But with you, I slept.

That astounds me.

And the farm endured
seven fields to forty acres
the days of my father
saw grass and crops rotate
his toiling obsession now spent
gave way to a bigger scale

the old house storeyed
by one and a half
the bedroom where I slept
in the shadow of an older brother

the roof of grey slate
the peak of my world
reached my childhood sky

the overgrown garden
the consequence of labours elsewhere
the sycamore tree
my view of a world outside
the patch of monkshood remained
where I trapped bees in a jar
the fuchsia bush with flowers to pick
and **** nectar from within

the old dirt track road
the start of a jouney far beyond
the realm of a farm
and the dreams of a boy

One Two Three Four Five.
A poem for you to count.
Six Eight Nine Ten...Oops.

Everyone is going to have a bad day from time to time, don't take it personally, just let them be.
2.Tell the people you love that you love them all the time and everyday, they need to know.
3.It's never to late to accomplish what you want.
4.Take care of yourself, get the sleep you need, take a warm bath or eat a meal, it will be okay.
5.If you're not in a relationship, it's not the end of the world. You're still beautiful and you always will be, regardless if you're with someone or not.
6.Enjoy the simpler pleasures like sitting on the beach or reading a book to ensure ultimate happiness.
7.Take pride in what you love, no matter what it is, because it's apart of who you are.

greedy eyes
never see enough
some call it beauty
others call it lust

greedy ego
can never boast enough
so many friends
very few to trust

greedy heart
can never love enough
giving it's goodness to all
even when it's tough

greedy spirit
can never have enough
complains at life, afraid to die;
it has to conquer more stuff!

Forgive me Lord for I have sinned,
I have taken your name in vain
and then abused that vanity to
raise my own name.
In spite of the green-thumbed
that wander your garden,
I tried to gather as much fruit
as my arms could carry before
Jacob’s ladder gave out to my weight.
But knowledge is a burden that even
Atlas can’t get a grasp of.
Forgive me Lord for I have sinned,
For I’ve fallen to the seven wonders of
this world that you didn’t warn this sheep of.

© Matthew Harlovic