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Taylor B  May 2013
Taylor B May 2013
I'm not sure who I am anymore
I have changed so much and so fast
You keep holding on to me
The old me, the person who I used to be
And the old memories we made together
I will admit that those recollections are unforgettable
They may be the reminiscences of the old me
But why should that stop us from making new memories?
New commemorations with the new me
I'm not the same kid from you memories
But I will always be who that little girl was
I may be older and wiser
But I still need  you
And I still love you
So please don’t leave me
Now is the time that I need you immensely
I’m just not the same person I used to be
And I lost and have fallen between the cracks
I’m still here I’m just trying to discover who I am
twelve caesuras Sep 2014
when i look at you, my heart aches.
a vague taste like sweet tea comes to mind,
and the sound of your sincerity bleeding through the cracks.

when i look at you, my heart aches.
i see moss covered mountains, think that i can scale them, too,
and i hear windchimes in your laughter.

when i look at you, my heart aches.
i feel like running through the sky and swimming in the sun,
and bringing you with me to see those candle lights called stars.

when you kiss me, my heart stops.
not because your lips are my new favorite flavor,
but because your cheeks are red, too.
poem no. 4 of exprome intimum amanti
Andrew Guzaldo c May 2018
“Raging waves of the sea foaming out shame,
Wandering stars above to which is reserved,
As my obscurity shall befall me perpetually,
I know not how to contain me in this macrocosm,
As a quavering adumbration quirks my hands,        
The hard brisk hour of night falls upon me quickly,        
The swishing foam of the sea sashes before me,          
My first vision in all my nights will forever be of her,  

The barren quays at eventide feathered varmint gather,
If I were to think with acrimony of this once realm,
Of foremost loves that has passed me through my life,  
She has left me at the fringe of the sandy littoral,

As I have decided to leave my heart felt altruism,
It is my hour of adieu oh me the dissipated one,
Her coiffure her guise of such charm lips of lust,
I adored her all this love will never be restored,

A  Poet’s words of love penned on tattered paper,
All the words of love and pain that many fear of,
Expressed in through the ink drafted on paper,
Poets die but their words anamnesis is perpetual”
                   By AG 05/29/2018 ©
By AG 05/29/2018 ©
Andrew Guzaldo c Mar 2018
“We lovers are defined by things we share,
Lovers are better together then to be alone,
One does not own beauty it is conceived within,
In their dreams it is felt it can be obtained,

What can this be I say to the crux of this esoteric woman,
Alone in a dark nights rest all my thoughts of her,
Bedeviled by the lies of her hidden beneath,
I can no longer judge the veracity now her beauty dies,

The Calypso of death creeps upon me,
You are forlorn now with artistry of her deceit,
If a man think himself to be existent without the allure,
It will be the opulence of her beauty that will burn in his mind,

As the rosette has been plucked away from me,
I skirmish as thoughts of you grovel into my mind,
And as I repel to your touch or thought,
Aghast at of what loving you again I will find,

I prefer to melt in your arms in a chimera of thoughts,
I would be free from harm free from impairment,
As I once gave to you now I shall survive in,
Seduced in an anamnesis in a Garden of Bronze”
By A.G. (C) 03/2018
Penelope Stark Jan 2017
I'll think of you when it snows.

For a few years at least,
Who knows.

Maybe longer.
Andrew Guzaldo c Aug 2018

“The long day wanes the slow moon climbs,
My pale enclave inspires me to write,
That of our midnight love rendezvous,  
As well as awful dreams of life’s hardships,  

All can be forgotten of travesty’s that followed,
As I easily compare you to a light of stardust,
Traipse of her breaching my mind of that day,
Thinking of your prompt nobility fills my days.

My love for you is the dedicated anamnesis,
Our heated times of past frolics of seasons,
Our summertime on the immense sleepy hollows,
The sounding furrows for my purpose holds

It may be that the gulfs will wash us down,
The prudence labor loving procured slowly,    
Whisking your rugged ways and thro's endings,
Subdued only to thro’s closure of laudability,
Ode to my rendezvous sonnet”

By Andrew Guzaldo 08/14/2018 ©
By Andrew Guzaldo 08/14/2018 ©      #115 POEM thank you HELLO POETRY
"The Ardor of a Poet Edition 1 and 2  Available at Amazon and Barnes and Noble

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