Silent, dark, moody, sad; life colored by anger unseen… The mother looked down at her sleeping child, fair hair on pillow of green—grass-shaded for life. How she wished he would rise.
In the dark of night, the boy ran away, her son dressed all in black. The mother feared for him; feared someone might run him over unseen; feared after he phoned that she might hit someone else in her hurry to find him.
Then he found music, an old guitar, un-played since the mother’s own gloomy silence and dark.
Now he’s writing songs and playing in the band.