Worst Day Ever?

Hello fellow blogger friends! Every now and then I come across a piece that I find so fascinating, that I just have to share it with you all. This piece is amazing but be sure to follow the instructions at the bottom to get the full affect! Enjoy!!

By Chanie Gorkin

Today was the absolute worst day ever

And don’t try to convince me that

There’s something good in every day

Because, when you take a closer look

This world is a pretty evil place.

Even if

Some goodness does shine through once in a while

Satisfaction and happiness don’t last

And it’s not true that

It’s all in the mind and heart

Because

True happiness can be attained

Only if one’s surroundings are good

It’s not true that good exists

I’m sure you can agree that

The reality

Creates

My attitude

It’s all beyond my control

And you’ll never in a million years hear me say

Today was a very good day

**Now read it from bottom to top, the other way,

And see what I really feel about my day.

Purple Reign…

Image result for free google images of Prince Rogers Nelson

A ‘prince’ among men, in all of his glory,

we were allowed a glimpse, a few chapters of his story.

Prince made his acquaintance, when he burst onto the scene,

for his musical magic, his fans became fiends.

Millions of records, he sold worldwide,

salacious song lyrics, often donned the flip side.

But the worst tears were shed when he exited the earth,

all the media speculation, what was his net worth?

In the end does any of that really matter,

so much inspiration now broken and shattered.

I wonder what he’s thinking as he watches from above.

Does he feel the loyalty of his fans, the dedication, the love?

Could he possibly know just how much he’ll be missed,

his ‘extra time’ and wind-blown ‘kiss’?

Prince’s musical mastery may never be matched,

the entire earth’s surface, he thoroughly scratched.

Through a misty haze of purple, great music, and now pain,

His memories will live on….in purple, he reigns.

By Sylvia Porter-Hall

Granddad’s Hat…

Image result for free google images of drawings of men wearing hats or caps

He stood tall, about six ft. two,

a man of great stature and mystery.

If only my granddad had had the time,

to gather the threads of past history.

I remember him to be a man of few words,

what little he said, he meant.

A quick glance from him and one instantly received,

the message that he sent.

A quiet presence, yet powerful indeed,

a man you had to respect.

His interactions were always understood,

short in length and very direct.

Amidst the serious steel-like demeanor,

you might catch a glimpse of a smile.

His hat always rested perfectly in place,

capturing his signature style.

Granddad’s hat simply added mystique,

to a man who wore it well.

One could only wonder what made him tick,

though his lips would never tell.

Granddad always wore a hat,

some may have thought he was shy.

Though none dared to ever tip the hat,

to reveal the message behind his eyes.

By Sylvia Porter-Hall

Penny Thoughts…

A single penny for a thought,

is that really all it’s worth?

A cost that is cheap, unlike the talk,

the babble post-baby’s birth.

You would think that after all this time,

our thoughts would be worth more.

But the more we share what’s on our minds,

the pennies seem to pour.

I wonder what was on the mind,

of the person who came up with this?

The value of thoughts misunderstood,

the mark was surely missed.

A penny for a single thought,

or so the saying goes.

Obviously not a lot has changed,

no matter what the prose.

Maybe it’s best to keep our thoughts,

safe and securely bound.

If thoughts were never shared out loud,

no pennies would be found.

By Sylvia Porter-Hall

When Broken Chips are Down…

Why do people crush to the ground,

the broken chips already down?

Sharp heels that grind with commanding force,

pressing into the earth without remorse.

They ignore and pretend not to hear the plead,

of those in trouble and in great need.

Not a word of kindness just to say,

I know you’re struggling, are you okay?

Those you thought would have your back,

when you find yourself under attack.

But when you look, hardly no one is there,

Does death have to loom for them to care?

What once moved people, no longer does,

a new mindset, now trumps what was.

I wish that people could really see,

how very different things could be.

The lonely silence and absence of sound,

a stark reality, no one is around.

Would they recall those crushed to the ground?

when the broken chips were already down.

By Sylvia Porter-Hall

I Won’t Give Up

I won’t give up, I simply can’t,

it’s not the way I was made.

Within me lies the will to live,

best made plans have been laid.

What am I to do when hope runs out?

No silver lining in sight.

The only thing that makes any sense,

is to face the fire and fight.

So, I’ll fight as though my life depends,

and often, it usually does.

Looking back will surely bring regret,

for all that is and was.

So, I won’t give up, I simply can’t,

it’s not the way I was made.

The fight in me will never die,

nor will I be afraid.

By Sylvia Porter-Hall