For a Friend among Friends June 15,1972

In 1972 Ken wrote a few sonnets, a poetic form he excelled in.

Was that a quarrel, these words that never came?

And did you hate, or blacken out, my name?

I did not mean to breach your peace of mind,

Though I was rough, more quick and free than kind.

I cannot rest, my pen fights with despair;

I flee from friends to lock away my face;

My heart is less than stone, my soul is bare;

I fear you'll never give me back my place.

You are not here; when will you come again?

And will you come in peace to mend the tear?

I do not gloss the truth to toll my pain,

My brain is thick with thoughts I cannot bear.

The chances are if you cannot forgive,

I must begin to wonder why I live.