“I haven’t yielded a tear lest deep within my soul,
There sets a sea that could flood the entire world,
I reverence at the essence of her solemnity,
That of cerulean or that of a forest of beryl,

A diamond once in the rough now the rarest of all,
Many wondrous souls bare emerald or sapphire,
Much rarer to me is she in nature an alexandrite,
Withal above alluded to see all the afore mentioned,

With each passing day I have found another treasure,
Of the infinite provenance of her being whom she is,
She who is that of corundum of ardent ardor,
A composition of paragon soul perceived by the Gods,

I am betwixt with the brine of love encompassed of me,
The archipelago and the brine fortitude water reinvigorate,
As the interwoven fiery spell of love has so endowed me,  
This my ardent corundum of our eternal,
Sacrosanct of adulation"

“Once I did love her as everyone knew,
And the Elysium can adjure to such,
Globules of love still trickle in my soul,
And benevolence of pain fills my heart,

I loved her endlessly even of her cynically sense,
Sometimes hesitant and at other times resentful,
Loving her regardless of her ambitious benevolence,
As tears is infamously brief the brow of my cheek,

She was the shadow of darkness that hid from me,  
Will a new love me with an obverse passionate fervor?
The globules of anamnesis drip from my heart and soul
Are these pieces of my soul that still cling to her?

Nor can I descent from despair from this I once loved,
Inescapable moments of life are as sure as leaves fall,  
As clouds form before a storm and the sun sets in eve,
As glacial flowers have fallen upon my latent heart,
And from ethereal hopes to a crevice of vicissitudes,    
By Andrew Guzaldo 06/25/2019 ©

" I aggregate to you of all that is relevant in my life,
I gild to love you as if you were sweet roses or gemstones,
Effulgence love of mine was she as sure as the moon above,
I love you as certain somber things are in need of love,

As ships of all sizes sail away to their distant shores enclave
Earthly we live up to life is sometimes encumbered by love,
No matter how hard winds brandish my perplexed soul,
Every breath I take will be a memory of my effulgence of her,

I love her without knowing how or where she might be,
I love her virtuously without elaboration or peace of mind,
There always will remain a secret adumbration in our souls
That secret window that will aggregate effulgence of love,

Cataclysm of passion a defense procures to my sensibilities,
I love you as the flowers we await for the spring to blossom,
Solid fragrance within ferries in itself the light of hidden flowers,
I must not give way to despondency of hydrophobia of your love,
But only to the effulgence of mine love thereof towards thee”
By Andrew Guzaldo 05/05/2019 ©

“Abrogation of love makes the heart grow indulgent,
Lack of such love makes the heart grow lethargic,
My heart has crystallized in loneliness without that love,
Now live in the past as our freedom gathered into the winds,  

For every chirp of a wind brings a memory of her,  
Methodology between us goes beyond mere dreams,
It is faster than the dims of light and morning sunbursts,
It’s an endless understanding and respects not the absence,

I could smell the lotus blossom in her ebony hair
As our sensuous fervor perilous to one’s flesh,
Now that you can see my eyes now you will read,
All the untold story of what  sustains me in my moments,

Read my heart you will see I could not sustain without you,
To sleep in a forest night sky that it will ingest my anguish,  
As I wait for the morn as leaves fall upon my body I awake
Shall I wait as earth and time afore changes all that is to be?    

In this abrogation of my life the stars shall fill my tired soul,
As vines descend on this a departing harvest around us,
No angst of this for the thought of love irradiates perpetually,
Deliquesce in my arms of my love all misfortunes of abrogation,  
Night skies eviscerates pain that has befallen upon our souls”  
By Andrew Guzaldo 05/08/2019 ©

“Poetry teaches one to read casuistry and put into fluency of words,
A reality of contributing the internal thoughts of rapture in mending,  
Come to pass but it is a poet’s way of living the arts of expression,
Art of expression for the poet as well as a benefit for the reader,

Life through philosophy of words affixed to realization of the subject
When there is obscurity another spectrum of an unusual piquancy,
A poet and writers life is always looking for that germane connotation,
Daydreams of delusion or a nightmare with a colloquy word equanimity,

When everything is onerous we reach a point of imperious efficacy,
Mind body and soul an inimical to dream and precipitous thought with no end,  
An uninterrupted moment of solitude and words moments of cessation rest,
In all this words teach a poet care for loved one or dear friend to aplomb,
Until lovers or friends may meet once again earnest  in Poetic Acclimation”  
By Andrew Guzaldo 03/11/2019 ©

"Odoriferous fresh gardenia flowers fragrance was she,
Her beauty will be cultivated forever amongst and beyond,
How does one know if it is love it is more than just a word?
It is a feeling soul bound that fervor’s beneath the skin,

So how do I know it is love if it isn't as the words are procured?
A sense of rising tide a rapid undulant river of a woman,
One cannot be a troglodyte in life when love arrives,
My love has arrived I have felt all the above and much more,

Sheer thoughts of her sends a billow enliven rapture within,
A rush with consternation render’s fervent fracas of piquancy,
I have heeded in life these depictions of the fluttering gusto,
As long as I live this tectonic emotion of this naiad will remain,        

Restraints of the days is this prologue to exodus to enclaves,
I turned my back on the capricious sea the euphoria and somber,
Where with a strain and a ****** on the banks of islet sands,
Beauteous day slips in night as the sailing foam drifts afar,

Although I am where I am I will never be perniciously charmed,
Stars will burn for all time as I lament in demanding sadness,  
Cursing as a cavalier of false hopes with untethered regret,
For I am not a troglodyte of ages but just an aesthete in love,
Beauty is Culture!”
By Andrew Guzaldo 03/02/2019 ©

"St. Patrick’s Day!!
Oh! thou tormenting Irish lay
I’ve got thee buzzing in my brain,
And cannot turn thee out again.
Oh, mercy! music may be bliss
But not in such a shape as this,
When all I do, and all I say,
Begins and ends in Patrick's Day"