A Poem by Mariana Silva

Inspired anew by the grace of a friend.


What wisdom shed you upon this hate-strewn world?

What truths wait behind your lips?

When upon this world we so find the strength to speak,

How is it that you have made it far with so many words?

Holding disdain at time for this cruel world,

It is evident in the tweak of your lips.

In this world, what is there left to seek?

And, is it worth all those words?


Blissfully and quietly absorbing the world,

There lies no doubt of your heart's purity.

Yet, behind those bright eyes of yours,

Awaits the anger and pain regrets yet unsurpassed.

Feel no one could qualm the feeling, not a soul in the world.

Pain dulled and relief aloof all under the same pretext of security.

Surely, someone has breached that wall of yours?

Another soul, at long last!


Simple words you continue to speak,

Not once faltering in your decisive manner,

Rarely has contemplation been overlooked.

For your nature is that of a silent leader.

Contrary to accussations of being meek,

You are one of the honorable and strong manner.

Never again can it go overlooked!

This I warn you, Reader.


Warm embrace, comfort otherwise unknown;

Quiet judgement, not spoken aloud for others;

Respect no matter the situation;

These are the things that draw people close to you.

Sometimes...you stand apart and seem so happy being alone...

Is it possible you either need not of others,

Or that you want to avoid the taint of frustration?

What are you waiting for others to do?


Finally, complete faith and trust in friends.

Possibly, underneath it all,

There is still a small, confused and sad child,

But you seem to draw it closer and finally absolve all his fears.

No matter where your story ends,

Or where your mark will fall,

Your compassion is unrivaled.

Hopefully, your inner conflict someday disappears.



© 2009 Mariana Silva

Author's Note

Mariana Silva
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Added on January 10, 2009
Last Updated on January 11, 2009
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Mariana Silva
Mariana Silva


Love to read and write, so much in fact, there isn't a place where my journal and pen have not followed me because you never know when something will spring forth to be written. Not a prodigy but some.. more..

Andy Andy

A Poem by Mariana Silva