Conceit Poem by Cynthia Buhain-baello

Conceit looks at self in magnified ways,
Imagined superiority over nothing.
Arrogant and vain, its reason in disarray
Stands on a pedestal but is shaking.

Empty containers make a lot of noise,
Like heads full of air that produce an echo.
Brains are dull and make the wrong choice,
Fed by drugs and by stuff we all know.

A tree is thus known by the fruit.
It is never assessed by the color.
What deeds a man does is the truth,
Who he is - that's the fact he can't alter.


Copyright © Cynthia Buhain-Baello