Cynthia Buhain-baello Poems

A troubled soul has cried today
His words were lost in pained emotions,
His thoughts at random as he prays,
O Lord, give ear to his devotion.
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My hopes like shipwrecked paper boats
Are crushed upon the streams of life.

With nothing to hang on to keep afloat,
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When we close our eyes
And pretend all is well,
We condone the lies
That our leaders tell.
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Culture is our unique definition,
Our distinct identity as a nation,
That clearly defines us as a people,
A portrait that's clearly recognizable.
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Twelve out of sixteen killed were defenseless
Nine were children, three were women
To kill them while sleeping, it makes no sense
But this tragedy is a really bad omen.
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S o heavy and dark are moods and feelings
A ll seems lost, a vague hopeless dilemma,
D own to the lowest pit of all human regard
N owhere to turn to is the pained, bruised man.
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Our Life is woven with Adversity
And the race is really a marathon,
Endurance requires persistence
And only the tough keep running on.
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Love blooms like flowers
Seasons usher new and hopeful buds
Though Winter's coldness numbs
Love comes again with Spring's warmth.
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W hat fascinating thoughts to knoW

O ccupy its duckling mind sO
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Gist is the fulcrum of a poem
On which it moves and stands
The axis where its meaning comes
The point where Substance lands.
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