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

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When Paper Meets the Pen…

Until the paper meets the pen,

private thoughts remain unknown.

The deepest, darkest secrets lie,

in the marrow of our bones.

Therapeutic is the art of words,

hidden safely behind the lips.

A silent dance, they do perform,

while the beat of our hearts skip.

The transparency that our sharing brings,

does open up the soul.

Forcing us back into our shells,

to reclaim our original roles.

So, until the paper meets the pen,

the world will never know.

The direction of our inner thoughts,

and which way they will go.

By Sylvia Porter-Hall

To Know Me is To Love Me

To know me is to love me,

or at least that’s what I’ve heard.

I hesitate to agree with this,

at the risk of sounding absurd.

To know me is to love me,

at least I’d like to believe.

I dare to utter these words out loud,

to those unwilling to receive?

To know me is to love me,

a work in progress indeed.

Please don’t judge the humanness,

from which my faults do feed.

To know me is to love me,

for I’m growing every day.

Like a rare and unusual flower,

that blossoms in its own special way.

By Sylvia Porter-Hall