My beacon of sorrow
looms in golden stone
reaching high on a city hill
making false promises
of my father's happiness
that never came~
Each graduated sculpture
of its tragic peaks
brag in grandiosity and hope
and of possibility in healing the past
But not for me...
And so she looms
With a history in her walls
Only her surface glows in the sunset
Of society's madness
And within me
May a dawn emerge
in truths.
Joni James 2006
The old vet hospital where my father received psych treatment in the early 60s