Kristina Jones Poems

Gossamer-silk strands wove into artwork,
Hung on bramble, glistening with morning dew,
Frail as a whisper, destroyed by one rainfall
And the artist must start his creation anew.
...

Those days were long gone when I was reckless and crazy
But you make me feel a way I’ve not known since I was a child
When I had no fear, adventure was spontaneous,
I believed in magic, and life was fast-paced and wild!
...

She’s frightened now.

She’s snapped all her needles and sits all alone
Rocking and sweating, her eyes fixed on the phone
...