A lack of talent one sees not in self
when grudging necessaries sum up care
for even wonders on a common shelf
are lost among the daily tear and wear.

Enough of beauty one believes the whole
when saltine crackers substitute for cake
for sweetest teasers bullying the soul
are blind to crimes of heartless pain and ache.

Too much of focus one allows the fire
when single threads outshine the patterned quilt
for loves unsatisfied with sore desire
are ignorant of paths to shame and guilt.

When not ahead, one cannot quit at last
a crimson blaze of glory leaving past.

- Robert Stone, 29 July 2012