© 2007 Donn Anning Jones
Stop looking for what they promised
you would find here-
That stone, whose color is not stone,
Reminds you of all you love in life—
and that all other stones are nothing.
That form, in breast or cloud or stem—
Saying what you can not about your desires.
And after which you despise all that is chipped and injured.
That light, whose clarity makes you believe in unseen worlds,
Or that where you stand is somehow different,
Comes always on the edge of darkness.
Exhilaration, too quickly fading
leaves you tired, wondering
what is love more than disappointment.
Stop looking. I know they promised you,
but it is no longer here. Just
be glad you have grown up and
have acquired a taste for bitter things.
© 2005 Donn Anning Jones
