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A poor room homed me in the childhood
With cold stone walls and a leaky stove;
Some days were spent under cover
With a hoody, a hat and pair of glove.


Nathless, there was no poverty of food;
My mother managed well the stew
With rice, potatoes and some carrots,
Her care cook'd a lot out of few.


Beside, the careless neighbours stood
With a lil bowl of sugar and eggs,
Trading on a sip of juice for gossips,
Paying the fee of the one who begs.


Way-outie, we were never even gloomy;
Despite the days of water and light off,
Mother managed the waves of hardship
Like the sailor's star never falling off.


Is a grace of God, the unfortunate broom
In which I scarce tasted thick happiness?
Sugar tastes sour after golden honey;
For rich, my treasure was unhappiness.


I enjoyed the oxford blue sky of the moon
While mom sweeped the streets for stubs,
I jumped up moon-high finding pennies
Far away the parties' hubhubs.


What a pity I feel now, for all the poor
Who had money, goods and no misery;
They know nothing what is life like,
But for true rich, life itself is glittery.
04.03.2018
the stars above and below
are one of the parts of you
that you’ve given to me
In your eyes, I find a map,
And so far it has led me past the stars
Into a galaxy of happiness and joy,
Through my own heart and into yours,
And it has showed me
Our love is a universe,
Expanding and compounding continuously,
Forever.
But this expedition has brought me no treasure to display in my trophy case
And that just wont cut it anymore.
So for now-
I'll just head back up to the stars.
Perhaps I'll find you there too.
TD Aug 12
The shape of your oceans'
crescent moons and trumpets cast
exude music insipid--inspired
mellifluous, austere, untamed.

Their restless hands raised,
lilting rivulets
emboldened, brash.

In the shallows
coaxing sighs from darting thoughts
curved lips that sip at soul-searching.

In the deep
your presence billows, gapes
the lustrous strands of time
lapping at the shore
pillaging our rocky clefts.

Your form
free, like words that
slick the pages of our moments
steeped in yesteryears
dark with depth, boundless.

If I plunder your lines
seek out the sullen darkness
tread your sunlit blues,
dare I? Should I?

Amid your tempting swells
and endless salutations
I'm prone to lose sight
of what is more than oceans
and what is less than real.

Yet, you are the tears that linger
in the peripheral,
the million eyes
meeting their purpose
on a stormy night.

And I begin to build
my rudderless vessel
in hopes of catching a glimpse
of your veiled treasures
because I can't find my own.

-waves,
A locket of gold hangs on a chain
Around your neck always
By your heart it remains

Engraven with words, only for you
“I am a child of God”
Provides comfort anew

Open your locket - reread the words
Remember the message
Let them often be heard

A happy, joyful, prosperous flow
Will stream from your locket
You received long ago

Emblazon the words into your mind
Let hope spring eternal
And your treasure you’ll find
This is Prosperity Poem 44 at ProsperityPoems.com  and you can see it displayed on a beautiful background here http://prosperitypoems.com/delivery44ALocketOfGold.html
I entered to the fear room
With a bunch of sadness
Full of hate buds
You put the bunch
Into the passion treasure
Wishing to bloom each bud
As a compassion flower
ALesiach Jul 27
Sailing the briny seas,
the winds taking us where they please.

A parrot on my shoulder,
"Pieces of eight," it repeats over and over.

If there is mutiny in the ranks,
aye matey, they will walk the plank.

Other ships we will plunder for gold
and any prisoner we will stick in the hold.

A treasure map we have found,
X marks the spot on the ground.

And once we have found the treasure chest,
we will sail off into the sunset.

ALesiach © 11/08/2014
ALesiach Jul 27
Sleep my love, sleep.
Rest your head on my *******
and place yourself into my keep.
Then, dream us on a mighty quest.

To a land where dragons exist.
Where we can run through mystical forests,
as we chase unicorns through the mist.
Then, on pretty balloons will float, I promise.

As through the marsh we must flee.
Toward evil knights guarding the keep,
where the buried treasure is we seek.
Before we escape on the murmuring seas.

Sleep my love, sleep.
Close your eyes and spread your wings.
There is no reason for you to weep,
for in your dreams you are king.


ALesiach © 05/29/2014
Verde Nero (The Fresh Market)
Sleeping in the winds of the lonely streets sweeping the streets, the piece is sewn wisely

Maschera (The Ball Dancing)
Protesting, **** wearing glasses to keep out the stoners
Plain speaking and rhetoric in monolithic's splitting city in this rubber English, covers our converse

Aida ( The Girl Weeping)
Tellers  followed nervous brick kick-downs avert the pother of rivers
Tocsin compunction in gumption of broken biting quote of Ides' bridling bust of Cesium on the betting of nickle dimes
In terms of bigger times

Corsaro (Cling And Fling)
Center popped the plenty lurid men crying crime ******* copper pottery decree from the street
Note, letter to yourself might be the first rhetoric device
Selling your self-evident truth untow'rd temerity unnerved didactic spell

Cover yourself with the fuliginous wetness, wipe the posters of red "I love you" in simply cheerful spirit
Idyllic, how you ensure our homework cries in fishing in ponds lighter then brightening by the pencil of sketching serenity
Oleaginous and oceanic oeuvre in ostensible cerulean seas
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