Showing posts from August, 2010

The Accent of Death, The Fine Line between Madness, To Find the Insane and The Untouchable Creatures

“The Accent of Death”
(The Voice that Talks to a Killer Inside His Head)

The mind bridges the gap between the sane and the insane.
What eats the brain into submission that takes over its transgressions,
cutting off the transmissions which raises the questions?

What makes friction between the skull and the spine, makes the picture clearer inside, deep where things hide a shatter of diamonds, a prism of thoughts, and a tunnel of hallucinations that clamber times walls?

Bridges between realities.

Bridges between ones fantasies.

Bridges burnt down by pure insanity.

Bridges from right to left to let them tell you who you are.

Is there a bridge to clarity?

Is there a color for every mood?

Don’t be the one who creates the gap; be the bridge to clarity.
Show them all who you really are. Toil with them; leave them clues.

You are immortal; no one can stop you.
There will be no one before you, and there will be no one after you
who can cheat death like you do.

Go ahead; take the hand of demise, and watch y…

Princes Of Main And King's Of New England a poem by John McKinley Pride Jr

"Princes Of Main And King's Of New England"

We will rule the world some day you
and I, thick as thieves we some times can
be. But you and I will grow up to be princes
and Kings with Main in our hearts and New England as
are throne. They soon will see the poor boys of
this country rise and never fall face first for no man
unless He be God Him self. So rise with me my brothers,
Let us be giants in our minds no longer, for when we
speak leaders shall listen and solders shell fallow like
herds of Buffalo; We will be poor no more.

By John McKinley Pride Jr.

Cold Weather: a poem By John McKinley Pride Jr

"Cold Weather"

I've been sleeping for a thousand years,
while you were throwing away all of your
essence. You seem to give a lot of pressure,
put together by pure messier. A heart to
treasure blown away by the cold weather;
freezing as it may be your love still
floats like a snowflake in the chilled wind.
No matter how heavy the burden, you stay
behind the curtain, certain in your place
in life traveling forever in your mind,
for what was a dream to others. A conniving
seed of mockery that they had put on you,
flattery of another kind, playing with your
passion, throwing away all of your essence.
Given away by pressure, put together by
messier, a heart to treasure, blown away
by the cold weather.

By John McKinley Pride Jr