Cynthia Buhain-baello Poems

Today, a mother held her newborn
With love and tender care,
A bond...
...

Dead poets live
With words left behind
To linger in life's pages
Read again by others
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At break of day
I turned
To touch
Your side of bed
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Distress is the catalyst of Change
Provoking a nagging unease
To seek out resolving range,
As it births metamorphosis
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Petals graced with dew
demure in simplicity,
sprightly fiery hues
catching one's sight perfectly,
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Met a little priest
He kneels in constant duty
Never goes amiss
With petitions, ceaselessly
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'What is it you want to say? '
The old man curtly asked.
'Don't color Verses gray,
With Darkness there unmasked.
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I'll tell you a little secret
Girls don't usually tell
Childhood days I can't forget
When I was eight, oh well.
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Protesting words denied
Her love and deep affection
He gently kissed her hand
And... looked into her eyes.
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Imagination
is boundless, a gift blessing
the creative mind, freedom
to soar horizons
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