Within My Silent Self

A poem on the introverted nature

A pin in a haystack,
a diamond in the rubble,
the Creator sits silence in the
midst of talkative.

A world filled with chattering lips
diminishes the value of calm.
The introvert, one rare specimen,
is nurtured among contrasting
identities.

I’ve probed the depths of my soul
to sweep the ashes from fiery lips.
I sink deep within my chambers to
guard a stillness lurking within.

But I’m set in a concert;
a coliseum full of fun enthusiasts.
The tables of socialites becomes
the feast I dread.

I’m repelled by clubs, pubs and
thrills exciting the moment.
So much to frown at prolonged
expressions of the tongue.
The sound of speech is to be
restrained like tempting desires.

I’m entertained by an orchestra
from within.
I draw from wells in the recesses
of my tranquil nature.
Should small talk be enticing to
a stimulated mind running in cycles?

The security of man’s esteem is
preserved by sealed lips—
a treasure misunderstood,
a trait quickly fading,
a behavior rejected.

Let the world speak outside my
cocoon,
let voices rock the harmony of my
shell.
But find me drilling deep to feed
off the wealth within my silent self.

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