John McKinley Pride Jr. Poetry & Art

“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,

"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" 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 4/12/97