Looking at her I am deeply saddened,
Because nobody has taken care of her.
Even though she is humble as stone,
And warmed those around her with love.

What a journey she has made in her lifetime!
Uprooted from her home across the ocean,
She traveled thousands of miles
And never complained, until now.

With all the grace of her creator,
She displays the elegance of the past.
She remembers the days of medieval hearth,
And will tell her tales to anyone who looks her way.

She will tell you stories of birds,
And mystical tales of leaves and vines
Columns and crowns and everything you thought
She would never be able to tell you.

Look at her, and you will see
The things she has seen and you will understand
The life she has led and the story she tells
Ad you will be amazed at what you see.

Because without love she withers
She looks out into a room so empty
And so beautiful, and so neglected
That even the plaster falls from the ceiling.

Her best friend was never far from her
And she will tell you stories too.
They look at each other with kindly eyes,
And though from different worlds, they are the same.

But her light is finally fading now.
Time has worn her through.
Her friend is suffering just as badly,
Even with angels on her side.

The ceiling weeps tears of rain,
Each drop echoing in this cavernous chamber,
While a pool of water glimmers on the floor
And shivers because it doesn’t belong there.

She looks into the water and remembers
When she has a view of the ocean
Because the trees were only little saplings then,
Instead of the majestic wonders time has made them.

She looks into the water and remembers
When daily breakfasts were served here.
She remembers the billiard room it once was, too.
And now he sees a wasteland of decay.

The gray sky is her bleak future.
Why would anyone let her beauty be lost?
All that she has loved was taken from her.
Soon her tears will extinguish her last fire.

M.K. June 4, 2003

My nose is there and my fingers weak
Sting my eyes, a pain in my jaw
A sore in my mouth and numb hands
Where am I going? Footsteps, doors below.

Sleepiness is where I am now.
Awake am I no more.
Into the vast wasteland of dreams,
A green field, the blue shore.

Clothing I bought now sits on my bed,
Setting sun and pink-blue sky.
Headache is all I know
And the tingle in my nose.

M.K. April 2003

M.K. May 19, 2003

Like hills, soft hills, that ripple on
And on and on,
And on and on,
The swirling, heaving fog did claim
The rusted lighthouse silently.

The storm grew fierce and bright the light–
A Fresnel hope, the weary beam,
The jeweled torch, the Northern star,
Heard rusting lighthouse silently.

A captain’s call on creaking wood
To save the ship,
To save the ship,
Could scarce be heard through thick’ning wind
Saw rusting lighthouse silently.

And though not seen by those scared men,
Thank God above; but then the sea
Sent soaring wave to lay its claim
Wept rusting lighthouse silently.

And though no more are voices heard,
No single sound save gulls at sea,
The ocean plays its sunken tune,
While rusts the lighthouse silently.

M.K. March 2003

Here things to begin to end.
With brilliant colors sets the sun
The festival reds and sorbet yellows…
Yes, dusk is beginning to cast its spell.

Shh…in the distance…an insect’s violin–
Hear it! Now there are many more.
The setting sun cues this invisible symphony
The orchestra plays its well known tune.

The water, once blue, then green,
Now dark, soon black.
Splash, splash, spilled the water,
Echoing laughter fills the air with a loud silence.

A filled stomach, a sumptuous dinner gone.
Sitting on the wicker chair, rocking, listening,
Watching the moon victorious over sun
Claim its spot in the evening sky.

Ah, ’tis dusk that weaves a spell like this,
Magical muse come and play,
Here is your Eden, leave your worries behind,
Let them be with the dying sun.

M.K. June 9, 2002

M.K. June 10, 2002