Ask, Seek, Knock
I sank in my quicksand life of confusion,
Had knowledge and learning, had a degree,
Engulfed in theology and false religion
But I did not have spiritual eyes that see.
So much learning will never fill the space
In the human heart that's reserved for God
For only His Truth and His loving Grace
Had set me free from the limbo I had.
Moses said 'His Words are not just idle words'
For 'They are spirit and they are life'
The beginning of Wisdom and Truth accord
An active living sword, sharper than a knife.
'Ask and you shall receive' This I have done.
'Seek and you will find, ' and Truth had set me free,
'Knock and it will opened unto you, ' change had begun,
This seeker found in Christ full victory!
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poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
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The Real Children
Mere generalizations
Devoid of human logic,
These bungling conclusions
Are just simply pathetic.
All men are not God's own-
Though they are His creations,
But those who chose to belong
To Him, through Christ's Redemption.
All suffering in this world
These were not all God's undoing
For the present evil does unfold
Results of all men sinning.
Rebellion took the greater part
Denial of God's existence
Had darkened now the human heart
And sin caused its persistence.
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poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
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Amazing GOD!
I know how it is to be lost
Rejected, scorned and abused.
I know the feeling and the cost
Of being unloved, cheated and used.
The hidden wounds, they always bleed
The angry words... they keep returning.
And through the years they all seemed healed
Those emotional scars just keep on hurting.
I used to hide under my bed.
My tears would dry as I fall asleep.
The fear and pain go through my head
And there's no one there to whom I can weep.
In anguished cry I called His name -'Jesus! '
No other word, not a scream for help.
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poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
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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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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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