Cynthia Buhain-baello Poems

My friend in Aghanistan
Stationed in the frontlines,
He sleeps with his loaded gun
And has never stepped on a mine.
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Stoic acrimony
On pedestals of vile Pride
Flaunt Soul Wretchedness.
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Lord You overwhelm me
I grope for words to say,
Your Presence does impart
Such comfort when I pray.
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A pen that has been dipped in mud
Writes poems that loses meaning
Its message falls into a thud
A sad demise to the art of writing.
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The years have not been really kind
Between us are the cruel miles,
I long to hold you and ease your mind,
And be with you even for a while.
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Death comes-
For this is the way of all flesh,
The sickle cuts and men board
The swing doors tagged
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Mind fruits
Flow with sweet juice
No plastic copy matched-
Ripe ideas will ink the pen
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You wonder why I do not cry
And why I am not breaking?
These eyes of mine are strangely dry
Right after your departing.
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Your name in glory will shine forth
God blessed you with His Goodness.
He knows what you are really worth
He keeps you in His Faithfulness.
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No man lives forever
Even a powerful one,
He will die sooner or later
With just a breath, he's gone.
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