I am quiet, yes. It is a held truth.
However, I am also wild. I am also free.
My soul is fire; my mind embodies a storm.
My silence is a deafening scream.
I ache to be heard.
Not for fame, I’ve never enjoyed spotlights.
Most have missed the point of my silence.
I have lots to say, but one must ask the right questions.
—  LB
Our Mother’s Gifts

Our Mother’s Gifts are frequently fleeting
most mercurial my dear friend at best
and only in the final moment of silence 
does a weary soul ever take its rest

Overflowing with fearful fitful dreams
children seek happiness at any cost
bearing the stains of worldly gains
was something far more precious lost

Game called on account of darkness
losers though none were keeping score
a tragedy because we may have won
had we but only loved a little more