Why do we quake at the immovable lips of a woman? We see atrocities in the eyes of the Madonna – That they bow to kiss. I have begun to realise that silence is not giving up – It is a refusal to fill the void with noise. There is a pressure point, We are waiting for a release - A natural disaster, to tumble out. Forewarnings in silent echoes of cathedrals Where whispers begin, rising to crescendo. The Fire. And the Mad Ladies of the past still exist like a raw scar And the melancholy of sirens still haunt our throats. The silences are the ones to listen out for. And the stronger we grow, the quieter are our voices. At times I falter - Til I walk through vaults of Whispering Woman There, if I stop and listen hard enough I can’t quite hear it clearly yet, but I get closer Fixing the marble bright stare of her there. Bow down, she is the Madonna, Al-Lat, Al-Uzza and Manat, All that is Danger, Thundering, Barbarous.
- Rebecca W Morris