Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Kristo Frost Mar 9
Poorly phrased tautologies lie in the crow named ******.

Wanton airs of royal talk distort her lesson further.

Final wit; a shameless hit.

She caws as you consume her.
Kristo Frost Jan 19
I have had this written on sticky notes on the side of one of my bookshelves for years. Sharing is caring!
Kristo Frost Jan 6
...follow your heavy footsteps through the moss that carpets a maze of tired oak. Solemn warnings calcify soft thoughts and point you at the coal on the horizon. Its splinterglow peeks hot squints through the arboreal tangle. Topaz streams convene and braid themselves around your spine. The stones in the riverbed grow smoother and each becomes a grain of sand. You let the sand console your roots as you curl your toes and fall asleep. Time becomes a living dream about life, which in turn finds you, one day walking deeper into the forest.
Kristo Frost Jan 5
Here I sit and think and ponder
While my wild mind keeps its wander
And my son enjoys his slumber
But my thoughts increase in number

What a world we wield these days
Of trump cards played in wicked ways
And all around us keeping haste
My thoughts can do naught else but pace

Yet without what we hide within
There would not be a tale to spin
Or crash and burn in red hot sin;
Forgive me as I drop a pin

My son, I must relay to you
A thought which haunts us lucky few
Who often wish we never knew:
The only truth, these days, is you
Happy to announce my son Skylar was born since I last posted anything. This one's for my boy! Will publish more frequently, I promise. ;)
Kristo Frost Nov 2017
Crawl inside, where they can't get to you.  Where their questions go unanswered, as would yours, if you asked any.  It is quiet here; that's one thing you can rely on.  If you squint your ears you can almost hear a car passing outside.  Almost.  Depression is a relativistic term that is below you.  You are Normal.  You are Alone.  You are You.
Kristo Frost Sep 2015
She's in the kitchen
(close the door)
just mixin' up some metaphor;
a true conundrum
through and through
and through to me and thus to you.

Her humble hunger
(forest's slumber)
thunders 'neath a wilting tune;
tuned to too many
to count without
a thought within.

She must profess
(but shall confess)
to any who will listen;
closely she holds
a tragic history
mostly mystery to most.

She solves my soul
(I deny that hole)
which she still fills;
overflowing always
with such unrelenting joy
that is My Love.
Next page