World of Hate – Poem

Curse ideas in all their form

What use are they to achieve one’s goal?

When the demon roams the hall

Of the membrane we must fall

And what if fate one looks

Finding a road one mustn’t take

When your life was a mistake

In a world of hate


© Christopher Stamfors

Cloud of Doubt – Poem

What we want and what we need

are two different things

Things with purpose,

Oftan striving towards a goal,

Things that help us reach said goal

With purpose we make.

But with purpose comes needs,

Things that are more important than others

More difficult.

We tend to avoid them

Waste the day away at things that are numbing,

Without purpose

unimportant.

Do we need it?

Do we want it?

Questions asked in futility

For we already know them,

Yet we avoid them.

Our true purpose hidden

In a cloud of doubt


© Christopher Stamfors

Desert Ocean – Poem

Waves of the desert, dunes rising high, they are the bridges across the empty stretches, of the land where nothing survive.

But across this empty land, there lie riches abundant, foreign lands who yearn our wares.

We are are the people of the forest, where the goddess shed her tears.

Good coin is to be had in things we find most common, gifts by the goddess which foreigners would do anything to get their hands on. 

Yet the strait between is vast, and it’s too soon to count our fortune, much can go wrong when riding the waves of torture.

Carry us high, Oh dunes of the dry land, the fair golden grain that are harsh and coarse, the deadly wind which we must put our faith in, we, our lives are at Death’s door.


© Christopher Stamfors

If you liked this you might like Invisible Touch

Hypocrisy – Poem

Fair winds blow on my back

I shout and my voice carries far

Everyone can hear it

Everyone can tell me I am wrong

How bad I am

*

The world is simple

Only two voices can be heard

Opposite of mind

One is right and the other is wrong

Nothing is diverse.

Most is interchangeable

And everything is convoluted.


© Christopher Stamfors

The Law of the Jungle – Poem

NOW this is the Law of the Jungle — as old and as true as the sky;
And the Wolf that shall keep it may prosper, but the Wolf that shall break it must die.

As the creeper that girdles the tree-trunk the Law runneth forward and back —
For the strength of the Pack is the Wolf, and the strength of the Wolf is the Pack.

Wash daily from nose-tip to tail-tip; drink deeply, but never too deep;
And remember the night is for hunting, and forget not the day is for sleep.

The Jackal may follow the Tiger, but, Cub, when thy whiskers are grown,
Remember the Wolf is a Hunter — go forth and get food of thine own.

Keep peace withe Lords of the Jungle — the Tiger, the Panther, and Bear.
And trouble not Hathi the Silent, and mock not the Boar in his lair.

When Pack meets with Pack in the Jungle, and neither will go from the trail,
Lie down till the leaders have spoken — it may be fair words shall prevail.

When ye fight with a Wolf of the Pack, ye must fight him alone and afar,
Lest others take part in the quarrel, and the Pack be diminished by war.

The Lair of the Wolf is his refuge, and where he has made him his home,
Not even the Head Wolf may enter, not even the Council may come.

The Lair of the Wolf is his refuge, but where he has digged it too plain,
The Council shall send him a message, and so he shall change it again.

If ye kill before midnight, be silent, and wake not the woods with your bay,
Lest ye frighten the deer from the crop, and your brothers go empty away.

Ye may kill for yourselves, and your mates, and your cubs as they need, and ye can;
But kill not for pleasure of killing, and seven times never kill Man!

If ye plunder his Kill from a weaker, devour not all in thy pride;
Pack-Right is the right of the meanest; so leave him the head and the hide.

The Kill of the Pack is the meat of the Pack. Ye must eat where it lies;
And no one may carry away of that meat to his lair, or he dies.

The Kill of the Wolf is the meat of the Wolf. He may do what he will;
But, till he has given permission, the Pack may not eat of that Kill.

Cub-Right is the right of the Yearling. From all of his Pack he may claim
Full-gorge when the killer has eaten; and none may refuse him the same.

Lair-Right is the right of the Mother. From all of her year she may claim
One haunch of each kill for her litter, and none may deny her the same.

Cave-Right is the right of the Father — to hunt by himself for his own:
He is freed of all calls to the Pack; he is judged by the Council alone.

Because of his age and his cunning, because of his gripe and his paw,
In all that the Law leaveth open, the word of your Head Wolf is Law.

Now these are the Laws of the Jungle, and many and mighty are they;
But the head and the hoof of the Law and the haunch and the hump is — Obey!


I think I’ll go ahead and read the Jungle Book now…

Invisible Steps – Poem

Their steps can be heard all over the valley

A thumping noise that makes the ground tally

But only at full moon do they show, for they move in the darkness

Even the ground hides their stroll

Nobody had been hurt by their heavy steps

Nor was the forest in tatters

Its as if they does not exist

Perhaps it is the fantasy of the people in the unknown

For life is simple, imagination is what we’ve grown


© Christopher Stamfors

Ghostly Creed – Poem

The alley echoed hollow on the empty street

Silence is a virtue by ghostly creed

Old houses and graveyards, is where they’d like to be

Hollow beings which the living cannot see

They are bound by the earth as long as they are remembered

Cast to the unknown, they prefer to stay unattended

For nobody knows what lay beyond

Are you going to heaven

Or hell as a thrall?


© Christopher Stamfors

Drew the cover image by myself this time around, although very hastily…