travis jones Poems

Weary indeed are hands such as these from the prick of piney wood slivers
ley split earthy seems to place inert things
that these hands do daily deliver
They need not of rest and instead try their best
...

I think and it fills me with dread
Of the things i thought did and said
And still to this day
I'm filled with dismay
...

Whether a fluttering feather
Flutters because of the weather
Or is led by the string
Of some unseen being
...

There once was a man with a gun
Who regretted the things that hed done
As he coolly remembered
The heat from the embers
...