John McKinley Pride Jr. Poetry & Art

"If You're Head Should Explode" For these are the days we see, in blue white lights of tattered silver steeds and dead men talking. Upon the sea, across this desert night this fire burns for you; yet you can not hear the flames of my lust rising. Take forth your own youth and your own broken heart and let it lie still; for what you know of love will never reach you. Still the clouds may stay in your eyes, like a painting in Mozart’s dreams of old times, they have shattered as I dream of new blood like youth lost in the pictures of our past. Gray has become a friend of mine and a two wheeled steed glides me to my place of rest. John McKinley Pride Jr.

"A Soldier Whispers to God" Mirror, mirrors all around and no reflection to be found and shadows seem to come and go with no intuition. Affliction rises through the steam felt mist like a hateful fist; the blow something I have not felt in years. Left in the tall cold wet grass with a ringing in my head fuzzy blurred vision, blood streaming down my arm in to a drip off my elbow and I keep telling my self the pain will pass a broken nose and pride what more could I hide. Wait just leave me here I whisper out to God, just leave me here I whisper it to Him again. As the tears swell up in my eyes I know this is the end; so I whisper to Him again let me think for a while let me rest for a while. Let me think for awhile about what has become of me, I think and the world seems still bullets passing over me in seemingly slow motion. My brothers falling and some running by, I whisper to God again let me lie here and think of what I once had; let me lie here bleeding my emotions

"Somewhere Between the Pages and the Words I Fell in Love" I have been here before Somewhere between the paper and the pen, Between the sentences and the paragraphs, Between the dotting of the i’s and the crossing of the t’s, Between the cousins of the G and the Q. Somewhere between the empty pages, words will start to appear and flow like a wonder in love with expressing the scribbles I compress upon this paper of a pad forgotten. Now remembering with every loop and line what we fell in love with as a child; somewhere between the silver chair and Max the "Wild Thing King". I fell in love with the words of others; somewhere between the numbers of fifteen and thirty-two I found a frost upon the pages of an old poetry book. Melting upon the tips of my fingers; outlining the very soul of my finger prints slowly drip, drip, and dripping down the side of my pen; roll, roll, and rolling across the paper and leisurely soaking into the pages of the binder that held my wo

"A Burning Thought" Sin, it’s the fuel of the world, sin becomes strong, sin becomes beautiful, sin becomes right and righteous becomes wrong. Fuel for the world, fuel for the people who walk in the dark blinded by the covering hands of Old Nick him self. He lights the world on fire and watches all the spiritsburn, a fuel that weakens the mind andtakes the pure away from the heart. Sin, burns like a hot blue light in the night sky feeding off the impuissant's of those who flock to it like moths to a flame, it has no feelings and no regards for young life, just your soul kindle to the flames of this world. By John McKinley Pride Jr.