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Best Poems Written by Kris Lund

Below are the all-time best Kris Lund poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Birth Is a Myth

Fresh life spawns, but birth is a myth.
Space over time plus life equals shit.

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In Too Deep

Safety in numbers is what they say, 
but trusting others is hard, OK?

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Full Moon's End

Sick of the monsters
that track my steps,

given the chance I'd
lay them to rest.
Following my
thoughts,
they trail my every
move.
Gotta lose 'em
before the moon
sets.
Grab my carving set
and begin to think
violently.
Grabbing their
attention- I get the
upper hand.
Stabbing through
their frail skin, 
I find the image of
blood in and on my
hands,
Cross-eyed and close
to the cliffs edge.
The moonlight sheds
time on the
monster's young
mind, 
and i drop my knife.
For they are me, I
was them, and soon
we will be together
again.
Looking back it was
a full moon's end.

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The Pig's Snout

Time is memory
And shame is doubt
When you are living
life
On the edge of a
pig's snout

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Gleaming, Sun, Demon, One

Gleaming Tones
on an unconquered
Sun.
Seeing myself
down the Demon hole.
Shimmering fractions
spun on a silver
coin.
And seeing the
reflections 
bounce off the
unwanted One.

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Rotting Metal Pines

The moon is low, so
I smile(d) at the
dark sky and the
stars that shine. I
speak to ones below.
I let my feet grab
the ground around
the rotten metal
pines. I move slow.
My drowning thoughts
catch wind of a fine
breeze, and are
brought to the
surface just in
time. Met by a dull
glow. And yet led
away to a spot
between two tall
trees. What was dark
is getting darker. 
The cloud overhead
is a monstrosity, I
hope it don't
swallow me whole. My
hands, in fear, grab
whatever's near. And
the time begins to
tick quicker than I
thought was
possible. It was a
fallen stick of
pine, it was
something I could
yield if foes broke
(my) fence.
Something i could
use in a panicked
defense. But
feelings I felt soon
pass(ed) fast. So I
broke that pine
stick, and choose it
for shovel, not
sword.  And I dig
myself a hole,
somewhere to sit my
(tired) spine. I
take a glance.  The
moon pulls my inside
tides. Makes me
question what's
real, and even
what's not. So I
crawl(ed) inside my
head, 'cuz it's all
I got.

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Chance and Circumstance

Pulled back from the
bricks.
Enlarged visuals
(warping) ancient
hieroglyphics run
and storming.
Judging me unusually
quick.
Laden and laced with
a dusty light.
A not so bright line
carves slight and
delicate curves in
stone so thick not
wind, nor water, nor
our time not even my
mind could strip it
.
Mouth bone dry.
Swollen liquid caps
sit still on green
and gold trees.
Leaves unsure,
quiver with a
weather-focused
system of beliefs.
Climbing with
endurance and
falling as is
determined. 
Leaving it all to
the wind, to chance
and circumstance.

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No New Colors

With no new colors
Pure as driven snow
White water
Washes my deserted
cuts clean
Same as before
Same as it ever was
Cue the exit music
For the family
branches 
Are wilting again

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Be Like Lot

Carving out some
solitude, for
fortunes have
weighed against me
recently.
Tracking life's
linear roots to a
place just beneath
me.
Graced with our
unwritten moral
code, and bracing
for any violent
onslaught that may
invade my personal
space between now
and the near future.
Slicing up some
thick thoughts.
After sounds trade
my mind for sketches
and jots. 
A blatant repulsion
of all things.
Disregarding bits
and pieces of the
whole as i dwell on
an entire field of
feeling.
Soaking in Sun's big
gift.
Drifting in and out
of minutes and pit
stops.
Under-conscious,
frankly, less
driven.
It's this place.
It's my face. 
It's this hazed over
valley and this
state of ignorant
souls.
It's my late claim
of bitter taste.
But a simple answer
does await.  
Pack up all your
thoughts.
Now, leave, and be
like Lot.
Don't move your
neck, don't turn
your head, for upon
you finally lay that
violent onslaught.

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Boredom

For any left insane, 
give me a few minutes to explain.
I've been lost for (days)/(months) without a brain,
things are (weird)/(strange) but I can't complain.
(And) I'm amidst a colorless plane, 
without any friends, I'm all that remains.
Me and this monster mountain range,
above which stay dark clouds, (boredom) and horrid waiting rain. 
Feelings are doused with blue and are sitting plain. 
I awake to see this has all just been a (tiny/brittle) quick (little), dream stain.