Cynthia Buhain-baello Poems

I know how it is to be lost
Rejected, scorned and abused.

I know the feeling and the cost
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Though raging waves of pain come crashing
Though howling winds of doubt and scorn

Plague and rock my boat of living
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Writing is a craft that needs skill like carpentry,
Like trying to build a poem using words creatively.
There must be exquisite care in the verbal choice
For just like a house, each part has its own voice.
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Candles and flowers laid for the silent dead,
Perhaps to make up for the words unsaid?
A time of the year when the living remember
Those who've gone before us to eternal slumber.
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Light of the home,
Hope of a nation-
Woman you become
An inspiration.
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The lust for power consumes men
Blinds the mind and pollutes reason
Diverts good purposes and then
Corrupts the character's condition.
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A tree is known by its root
The source of its first life
A fruit is known by the tree
As a man is known through strife.
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Melancholic skies
Skilled at hiding mournful eyes
Cry tears of April.
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Mellow sounds that gently touch
With soft caressing notes
Taking one to heights as such
As clouds in azure skies She floats.
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Have you ever
Listened to the sound
Of gentle rain?
Drink with eyes closed
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