Empty Cans, Noisy Gongs

How come it is their unwritten rule
That seems to dictate and dominate,
Generalizing us as basal fools
In this a venue for Freedom's fate?

Perhaps the Power of  these words
Cut close to where the heart wounds were,
Hidden slyly with meticulous cords
Childhood pain  buried deeply there.

Bitter tendrils of  forgotten Anger
Wrapped so to keep the Mind enclosed
And morbid Darkness becomes its Ruler
To sit enthroned,  with Pride - repose.

When touched by Truth it shrieks repulsion
Poetic tantrums  as words fly about
Armed with blind aggressive Retaliation
It stoops to the level of Ridicule's shouts.






"An empty container makes the most noise,  but filled containers know how to silence their own sound."

"Pride goes before destruction,  and a haughty spirit
before a fall."


Cynthia BuhainBaello
June 25, 2012

Author's Note

Please comment on the poem only.