#forty
what is it to be 40
twice the man, you were at twenty?
four times the man, you were at ten?
is it being wiser
and having your means meet the end?
finances sured up?
with no need, for to be the miser
a divorce or some
perhaps a strong marriage
polyamorous loves
to your heart's desire
addictions? vices? troubles stifling?
death breathing down your neck
to the thumping of your heartbeat
beads of sweat, gather
and run off your chest
like your shoes on the concrete
you are dying
even while you're living
and you know one day
it'll be your last
cause we only get so long
and time goes fast
a baby is born
the next afternoon
an old man is buried
tomorrow could never come
would you ever know it?
Apr 12, 2021
Apr 12, 2021 at 11:06 AM UTC
_Bright anime eyes,
Cat-astrophically bewitching;
Forty winks required._
Sep 6, 2019
Sep 6, 2019 at 3:30 PM UTC
When my family and I moved into this house in 1977, Dad was our patriarch.
For four decades I have lived in a subdivision that is called Crosby Park.
Today I've lived in this subdivision for forty years.
I was only five years old when I moved here.
When a person lives at a place for that many years, it fits like a glove.
This is where I'll live for the rest of my life and it's a place that I love.
I'll tell you why my place means more to me than it did just ten years ago.
It's because this place is now mine and there's no place like home.
Feb 25, 2017
Feb 25, 2017 at 11:02 AM UTC
I am watching you
In my peripheral vision
And counting all the times you look at me (when you think I don't see)
By the end of the night it's at 43
That sounds pretty lucky to me
Jul 20, 2016
Jul 20, 2016 at 5:50 AM UTC
I pack the bags beneath my eyelids, off to sleep.
© Matthew Harlovic
Nov 9, 2014
Nov 9, 2014 at 10:45 PM UTC
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
Sep 10, 2014
Sep 10, 2014 at 2:20 AM UTC
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
Aug 28, 2014
Aug 28, 2014 at 5:18 PM UTC