Frankie

You never came to say goodbye,
And until now I don't know why
You chose to end your life that way;
There are no answers to this day.

News of your death was hard to take,
So numbed with grief I lay awake.
Too far from you to even view
Your casket and to bid 'adieu'.

For you dear brother, my close friend-
Regrets have plagued my heart since then.
Should have been there, I should have called.
When Daddy wrote, your heartaches told.

You felt alone, life hard to bear,
The love you needed was not there.
You must have thought we did not care,
Your hopes were crushed, all was unfair.

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poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
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Blind Guides

There were two blind men who were walking down a street,
The first blind man said to the other, 'I'll lead you, follow me'
While the second shook his head, 'No, halfway we meet-
You lead me the first street, the second, it'll be me.'

So with walking sticks both blind men plodded on
Together hand in hand, albeit quite slowly,
Then soon a building wall they chanced upon
Each man groped around, finding its identity.

The first blind man said, 'I think it's an elephant
Let us try move it and push it to the side'
But the second man said 'Its a ship that is vacant
Maybe washed here by a big raging tide.'

Predictably both blind men had a discussion,
One tried to push while the other pulled the 'thing'
Both were so definite in their identification
Of the obstacle that had blocked their walking.

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poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
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Whispered Assurance

Lord, You are my Hiding Place
In this remote cave of solitude,
As my soul gropes in empty space,
And I thirst for inner fortitude.

Like Elijah, I am in hiding,
And I fear the howling winds of life,
The violent earthquake of losing
That shatters my hopes like a knife.

In the strong winds, You are not there
Neither are You in the fierce earthquake,
But You come in a quiet whisper,
With loving care, my soul You take.

You cradle me with Your assurance
Like a newborn in his mother's arms,
'My child, there will be no circumstance
I will ever leave you to Harm.

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poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
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Holy Spirit Power

Always learning but never knowing
The things they so often say,
Having form but not empowering-
The Spirit absent when they pray.

You see the Substance of the Word
Is not just idle words we send,
It has the Power of the Lord
Cutting through the hearts of men.

Without the Presence of the Savior,
In the hearts of those who study,
There is no Guide in all their labor,
Their search for Truth will be so empty.

Voluminous words won't touch another
But space and time it will occupy.
For only God bestows His Power
On a man's word, devoid of lies.

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poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
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Wolf

A scar that has healed on my finger
Reminds me of it everyday
The incident as vividly I remember
Tattooed in memory, you could say.

I was seventeen and my brother, older
Six children cramped in that place
A six -door apartment that cannot be wider
The ceiling was cracked and the paint lost its glaze.

We were not beggar poor but neither rich
So the absence of luxuries were a fact
We spent warm afternoons on the yard in which
We never craved for whatever we lacked.

One lazy afternoon, at almost sunset
We had come into the house for dinner
But my eldest brother remained there to let
The late hours of day somehow linger.

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poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
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Master, Or Slave?

All men were created to be free
But some have chosen another way
Life choices were made into slavery
That ebbed their humanity away.

A man is a slave to what mastered him,
Alcohol, drugs, gambling and such.
Greed, pleasure, and every evil whim
Yes, the tendrils of Sin can grip so much.

Man takes the drugs in his own hand
And with his own mouth, he will then swallow.
Man takes the guns, pulls the triggers and then
Does the killing, the murders he sows.

Man, he created those nuclear weapons
Surely for the purposes of making war
For Hatred and Strife has mastered him on
And his Sin has gone so very, very far.

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poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
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Thirty Ninth Lash Of The Whip

They tied Him on a pillar
As if He would try to escape
His destiny foretold before birth
They tore off His clothes, took His cape.

The whip used on Him, a flagellum
Had leather strips attached for greater cruelty
The ends had bits of bone, pieces of chain
Perhaps to ensure - the prisoner had more pain.

Now as the Roman lictor moved back
Six feet away for more impact
Spread his legs and with all his might
Hit the flagellum on the God of Light.

The strips curled around His body
Then little bits of His flesh were shed,
Bleeding from the cuts of metal and bone
The Son of God, in silent cry, was alone.

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poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
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And The Priests Said No Divorce -Amen?

She married him, that evil incarnate.
Frail looking facade of a false man
With so much of unresolved hate,
But one she had tried to understand.

Those abject years were filled with pain
But Jean had to stay for the children
Her mind messed up and emotions drained
From getting beaten up so very often.

One day he hit her head on the table
With gun in his hand and ready to shoot
The blood from her eyes made her unable
To run away as a bullet hit her foot.

That vile and vicious scum of this earth
Kept hitting her head till she fainted
So high on his drugs and soul full of dirt
Violence alive, never was so demented.

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poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
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Unless The Lord Build the House (Narrative)

There was a well-known pastor
So effective in ministry
The congregation's favor
Blessed him well materially.

He preached so eloquently
And with his wife they served,
Their time spent in activity,
Recognition well-deserved.

They traveled to and fro
For sermons in all places
Their children left and so
Their son fell from God's graces.

They say most pastor's kids
End up in gross rebellion,
Without the care he needs
He fell into temptation.

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poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
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Sister Elly Ann

Religious garb is never a guarantee
Some wear robes just to look pious
But they are not what they seem to be
When their actions reveal what is obvious.

Such is the character of that disturbed nun
The principal of my daughter's high school
Who went by the name of Sister Elly Ann
She had the bad temper of a raging bull.

One day the students were given punishment
For one reason or another by this nun
All the girls in one class to the streets were sent
Out to walk in the seething heat of the sun

In one long line walked the poor young students
At the noontime heat of thirty-three degrees
Around the block and then back again
Until some of them fainted, some fell on their knees.

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poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
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