Showing posts from June, 2010

Who Will You Be?: a poem By John McKinley Pride Jr

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It takes some one to know some one, to be some one in this world.
Your alive and here today, your more then just some one to me. I know there’s people who bring you down they bring me down too. But you know who they are and you know who you want to be, if you go down, we’ll go down together with the world on fire, every one would have known who we were, what we could have been then they will feel ashamed of the scandalous pranks they played on us. They will see it takes two to start a war and one to finish it. Alone in a stand off with my back turned they shot with out shame and with out blame they will never hang there heads, but raze there fists in victory of a death that will make them famous for years to come. They yell out there is no heart in us, our veins run an icy blue. Till they part from this world there will always be some one next in line behind theme to start it all over again, who will it be the demons, the devil or me. We are not all the ones to b…

Your Ghosts Lead You Astray: a poem By John McKinley Pride Jr

"Your Ghosts Lead You Astray"

Tell the truth before your ghosts come back to haunt you; but I could nearly see my self letting go of you. It’s true, it’s how you lie to your self and it’s how you scar your self; but yet you’re still the one I’m looking for. You are still looking; looking for truth; but it’s how this day ends that bothers you. It’s how you bother your self and you know it’s true; it’s always about you. Look in your closet they are waiting there for you; look how they bother you, look how your falsehoods come true and look what your deceptions do to you. I’ll wait for you; I’ll see your ghosts come threw, but what a thing to do; when your wishes don’t come true.

By John McKinley Pride Jr.

Roaming Souls and Broken Hearts: a poem By John McKinley Pride Jr

"Roaming Souls and Broken Hearts"
Lost are we among the multitude of roaming souls and broken hearts.

Searching ghosts are we pondering the graveyards of our past glory years

Broken are we searching for someone to mend it like a hermetic peace of machinery

What are we to become but dust and granulated feelings of anther's lust for power.

Like a traumatized victim left in the middle of the road of a population overload.

Have I tried hard enough?
Have I giving the blood?
Have I giving the sweat?
Have I giving the tears?

No, I have had them scraped from the slate of my very being.

Ripped off my skin like badges of merit that will never leave my mind; only scar my pride and chain down my spirit.

You've burned it all down; all that I was and what I left behind in hope that you would fallow.

But it was not enough; it was never enough put this on my tombstone and never forget how I never forgot about you and the pain I felt in my overworked hands was callused over with the love I had …

King of the White Lion (Bio Style): a poem By John McKinley Pride Jr

"King of the White Lion"
Fear is not in me.
It is not of me.
I can see it in my enemies’ eyes.

I have lost all; so I am without fear.
There is neither beast nor man who can stand against me.

I am strength for the weak.
I am skill for the meek.
I am justice for the defenseless.
I am honesty for those who cannot stand on their own.

If you are for me, then you have safe haven.
If you are against me, then I pray your gods have mercy upon you.
I will have none for your sorry soul.

Hope our confrontation ends quickly as it started.
And if you walk away alive, you will surely have lost something in our duel.
For I am the King of the White Lion, and I am tamed by no man who stands before me.

By John McKinley Pride Jr.

This is a Bio Style Poem about Sir Ivan who is called "The King of the White Lion" you can find him in the book.

Valley of the Yellow Stones By Pattimari Sheets Diamond
(can be found on

A Knight’s Last Stance: a poem By John McKinley Pride Jr

"A Knight’s Last Stance"
Heavy my steed walks upon bloody ground;

My shield in hand holding tight to my reigns;

So deep into the beasts’ tundra where no sunlight gleams;

The fear begins to make its way,
Trembling in my once steady war scarred hands,
I can feel the heat upon my armor;
I can smell the beasts’ very breath.

It is the stench of death rotted into the walls.
The sound of my heart echoes in my head.

Then before me a glowing of eyes appear in the pitch of darkness
That glooms in front of me.
My torch, as my life, slowly burns out.

By John McKinley Pride Jr.

The Fear of Hate: a poem By John McKinley Pride Jr

"The Fear of Hate"

We find this way of making sense of all are wrongs by blaming others only to put are self’s at the mercy of are own hate. This tragic drama we call life is short, long, tragic and beautiful; but more often then anything diminutive it will always be. We fallow the straight and the winding roads too our own happiness some times to bump in to others on the way there never thinking of them on are way. Hoping there road is away from life’s disappointment and dismay; I have lived my life and seen many come and go; only to shake the dust of them off my boots as I shut the door behind me on the lies they tried on me. I am not afraid to walk alone in this life from right to left; back to my right only to sway slowly to my left again; what you see in this life might be calm but yet cruel and some times wild but tame, in the end I wish we all could be the same.

By John McKinley Pride Jr