Grateful…
For all blessings,
rained down so abundantly.
Nothing is taken for granted
thankful.
By Sylvia Porter-Hall
Grateful…
For all blessings,
rained down so abundantly.
Nothing is taken for granted
thankful.
By Sylvia Porter-Hall
The sun is always shining,
even when there is no proof.
Eclipsed by density of colors gray,
that cast shadows upon my roof.
The sun is always shining,
earth eagerly beckons its heat.
All living forms wait with baited breath
in their designated seats.
The sun is always shining,
from corridors high above.
Invisible to the naked eye,
is God’s undying love.
The sun is always shining,
when rain is slow to end.
Waiting in the wings to comfort me,
much like a loyal friend.
By Sylvia Porter-Hall
Forgive and forget,
is easier said than done.
Success finds those who try.
By Sylvia Porter-Hall
Family
Close-knit
tightly bonded stitches
Deep in the bloodline
Kindred
By Sylvia Porter-Hall
Forefathers
paved the
way, long ago
For the sweet taste…
Freedom
By Sylvia Porter-Hall
Imagine a world, where racism didn’t exist,
where ‘segregation’ and ‘separatism’ never kissed.
Imagine a world, where all skin is thick,
ugly words and behaviors fail to stick.
Imagine a world, where color is blind,
and people strive to be loving and kind.
Imagine a world, where wounds are no more,
no one is out to settle a score.
Imagine a world, that is honest and fair,
where everyone counts, because everyone cares.
By Sylvia Porter-Hall
Heavy,
are the clouds above.
Besmirched is the horizon.
Fresh smell of dampness fills the air.
Wetness…
By Sylvia Porter-Hall
God makes no mistakes,
you are an original,
divine creation.
By Sylvia Porter-Hall
People,
need to be heard,
to make their voices known.
But is anyone listening?
Crickets…
By Sylvia Porter-Hall
If I could tell you my most secret thoughts,
could I trade them in for the things once bought?
If I could tell you about the price I’ve paid,
the debts incurred because I stayed.
The sleepless nights, the endless hours,
spent dangling under your hypnotic power.
If I could tell you about the constant suffering,
the excuses made, a sad attempt at buffering.
If I could tell you… about your hurtful words,
flung thoughtlessly, outrageous and absurd
If I could tell you all of these things,
would it make a difference, or more heartache bring?
By Sylvia Porter-Hall
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