Warren Augustus de Guzman Poems

God's number is seven,
Satan's number is six.
Satan is quite even,
God does odd tricks.
...

'May I take your hand and hold it in mine? '
'As long as you never let go.'

The words shattered his spine.
...

Sitting down on the white sand I raise my coconut
Slash off its top with my machete,
And sip on the juice greedily.
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Throngs of depressing music
Accompany me to bed every night
Melancholy acoustic
Take me to my bed then to dreamy flight
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Waking from our slumber I find she's disappeared
Just last night I held her so close and so dear
And now as the sun shines on my empty bed
I fear for which reasons why she chose to have fled
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Sitting on a pedestal I contemplate and wait
For what seemed to be ten thousand years
Ten thousand years of wrongful debate
On what to do with these four chairs
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Really...
I am not thinking anything.
I can't answer that...
Really...
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Rest assured you will not feel,
Earnestly the weight of my appeal.
God above has the strength to heal,
Injuries you inflict with graceful zeal.
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Rose petals scattered across the room, red and white.
Candles alight, filling the room with warmth, scent and light.
Wine bottles chilled and lined up in rows by the dozen,
Friends and warm smiles, up, down and every direction.
...

A minute passed by,
A capsule of seconds,
A quark of an hour,
It just passed by.
...