Treasures of the TownAaron Jones Treasures of the TownTreasures of the Town
Those simpler days when I was but a boy,
living free, no focus in my mind; I see them now as times of only joy, as times when there was treasure left to find, as times when all the world was my stage; that truly was a priceless, golden age.
I lived out all those days within this town,
looking up the streets, then looking down, and learning what it meant to have a soul.
And while I looked and learned, those days soon passed. The bitter warmth of autumn turned to cold, and as I watch the geese take leave at las
Wishing WellAaron JonesWishing Well
Wishing Well
Sprinkle, sprinkle, drizzle, drizzle turns my lust to amber fizzle. Caught amidst a summer rain,
where earth and sky dovetail again, I sit and wish I could be risen from this glinting, dreary prison.
You’re in my thoughts, your image clear among the glad reunion tears.
You’re leaving soon, despite this storm, for distant landscapes less than warm.
I miss you now with all my heart, though still your journey’s yet to start. Five days, no more, you said to me; a pittance in a grander scheme. &
Promise BoyAaron JonesPromise Boy
Promise Boy
Promise boy. Hey, promise boy! Where the hell’d ya go? The trees are all a-flower, and there isn’t any snow.
Promise boy! (That silly fool.) Where are ya, anyhow? We’ve got so many things ta do! I need ya here right now!
Hey! Promise boy! Ya moron! Where the hell ya hidin’ at? I can’t do all this by myself! I’m sick of all this crap!
Ya stupid little moron! This time, it’s gone too far! If you don’t get your ass out here, I swear...Oh, there ya
Spring in My StepAaron JonesSpring in My Step
Spring in My Step
There’s a plausible joy in my pace. It bounces me forward and fast. There’s a frugal half-smile on my face. I certainly hope it will last for as long as my girlfriend can talk, or as far as the first fall from Grace.
There’s a spring in my step when I walk. It bounces me forward and fast, and follows me most any place.
There’s a definite warmth in my pace. It pulses out from me in blasts and lights up the soil, gives it taste. With every pirouette and dash, the liquid divulges.
| Why does this thing want to know about me? Go away... Me? Eh, you know. Just the average novel-writing, music-composing, karate-training sixteen-year old who's pretty sure he has too much wisdom for his age. Sometimes I feel like an old man. It's kind of ridiculous. Well, enjoy my page, and please leave comments. |
Poetry out the wazoo
Very Much Appreciated!
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We Live, We Breath and Every Moment is a Masterpiece...
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"That's what she said."
"Who's she?"
"Is she hot?"
-Manifest, Aaron Jones
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"That's what she said."
"Who's she?"
"Is she hot?"
-Manifest, Aaron Jones
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"That's what she said."
"Who's she?"
"Is she hot?"
-Manifest, Aaron Jones
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"That's what she said."
"Who's she?"
"Is she hot?"
-Manifest, Aaron Jones
Poetry is the most delicate art of all... 'cause is the expression of ppl's feelings and thoughts... didn't know that there was ppl that love this sublime art...
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Ohaithere!
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I'm not random...... OOH a MUFFIN!!!
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