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I wish I was able to wave a magic wand
Take all our broken pieces
Put us together perfectly
Without cracks, chips, and creases.

I wish I was an ancient shaman
Who could heal with just one touch
Caress each and every wound and fracture
Soothe pain so doesn't hurt as much.

I wish my muscles could bear both our burdens
Not falter under their weight
Peace the impossible destination
When we carry baggage we hate.

I wish we could rise high above
Small opinions of close-minded folk
It seems perfect until someone makes a comment
Reminding me our relationship is a joke.

I wish the day would come where we walk hand-in-hand
Without obstacles in our way
Across this beautiful atlas
Not stopping until far away.

I wish for a paintbrush
Large enough to paint the sky blue
Tried different shades of navy and indigo
I never could find the right hue.

I wish I had the ability to sculpt
A duplicate of your heart out of clay
Savor these wild emotions
Relive your love day after day.

I wish I was cold enough to make time freeze
But precious minutes and hours won't bend
When will I discover that love never lasts?
Time destroys all things in the end.
Everything must come to an end
 Jan 2019 Kristo Frost
Star BG
I am a circus poet.
juggling verse
with clown like rhymes
to make people happy.

I am a tightrope walker
stringing jargon to walk across
as I balance prose
inviting reader to walk with eyes.

I swing along on trapeze
as reader sees landscape unfolds
and watches with gasp of grandeur.

I am even a lion tamer.
Taking ferocious words of emotions
to calm its form
and scribe with pen of whip.

You see I am all members of the circus
and I open my tent of poetic song.
Step right up.
A ticket is a mere moment of your time
inspired by Audrey Joyce Thanks
 Jan 2019 Kristo Frost
Nathan Box
Crowded around a kitchen table,
Tonight, we are in the business of solving problems;
The world has plenty to go around.
With every sip, the challenges become less.
Every rotation of a record means something new.

Our days of festive evenings have passed.
We are here now.
Or, perhaps at a corner bar.
We are together, though.
It is something new;
A spirit of revelry.

The world seems to find us standing still.
All the while, days on the calendar escape us.
Time betrays us all.
All the while, exposing our greatness weakness, hesitance.
But not now.
Here, time slows down.
The kitchen table could be a pew.
We are filling each other up.
This is the spirit of revelry.
 Jan 2019 Kristo Frost
Lilywhite
They drop like flies I tell ya-
can't contain the pressure,
eruptions fused by anger;
frustration...
but rather than seek an explanation,
the assumptions over take them-
everybody suffers now. . .
what an awkward situation ?

to partake in such petty things . .
is to deny the soul and its awakenings . .
a waste of time and energy I tell ya-
and there's nothing worse
than feelings hurt, ignorance, and
being a ****

so have patience, be kind,
remain strong, and put the past behind,
always move forward, and seek truth
for there are many possibilities within our youth
to learn from, and be living proof
that this too shall pass

There's so much more to life than broken hearts
and senseless strife...
February 11, 2013
 Jan 2019 Kristo Frost
Mote
.
  .

feeling has felt bad
since feeling began

  .
    .

i tell

the silent god

nothing is real
on this car-fire
stretch of road

but you
 Jan 2019 Kristo Frost
Ember Zola
You
Are a
Mess

You
Are
Enough

As
You
Are
 Jan 2019 Kristo Frost
Star BG
Oh please don't sell yourself short.
el great one’s who walks with poet inside
Oh please take breath and smell the grand roses
of your soul that calls.
That whispers for your story to be told.
Oh seeker of inner love on rainy night
stay strong in storm of tears
for the rainbow is close behind.
For all the poets that think they have nothing to say and have forgotten who they are. For there is a poet in everyone who indeed has a story to tell.
The author reached into her book
And over her characters she took
She attached strings to the humans
Led them to their happiness or ruin
Controlled who they became
And made not one the same

She painted trees with her eyes
And created mountains and skies
She let the scenes drip from her fingers
Onto the pages as her influence lingers
She slowly created worlds and wars
Fabricated houses and hidden doors

She plunged into her story without a thought
And the rest of reality she forgot
She painted with her mind body and soul
A masterpiece of her own control

From her tale and made up lands
She slowly removed her hands
and the author came back to the world
To recreate her story already once told
 Jan 2019 Kristo Frost
Lilywhite
What do I feel, if I even feel at all?
I'm ashamed and quite frankly, I'm confused.

No longer would I want to question
what is already known to be true. . .
yet where is thy confirmation?
'tis an ode past due

there are glimpses
of which I can't quite catch
where I linger
and now find
caught in this beautiful,  
intricately woven web of loneliness—

m̷y̷s̷e̷l̷f̷
May 29, 2012

pacing on the pavement outfront, I conjured this
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