John McKinley Pride Jr. Poetry & Art

(This was a short poem made put together for a friends children's book that they are doing) Feathers light and dark, meshed together like night and day. Wings flutter and splash landing in a quiet lucidity upon golden ripples of liquidized glitter; like stars spreading in the sky on a cold crisp morn. The sun peeks over the hills welcoming warm delight to push the dark away and welcome a beautiful day. The trees sway back and forth like a giant church choir; with a slow breeze whistling through each branch that sings the song of a new day. By John McKinley Pride Jr. 5/24/11

There is this step we all must take to relies the truth; like a stair case leading to the sun in a tunnel of spinning questions. We are not slowing and our mind keeps flowing with indecision of rime who to befriend and believe in. It is a crime to leave it all locked up inside your head peeking out through the cracks of your brain. Yes there will be many in doubt and there will be many who will keep you down. If you look around you will find your rebirth in others you do not know. Those who flow like you Those who know who you are and believe in you. So do not slip up and tare apart your staircase board by board until you reach the top and touch the sun. By John McKinley Pride Jr. 5/6/11

"My Addiction to Conviction" Conviction has become my addiction and my addiction has become me; I can not lie or steal. Feel this love inside of me is it ok? What have we learned so far and how have we gone from here? Must I think of these things and is it ok? Where does the heart fall and how big of a hole is left if it is taking from us? If we fall how deep is it from here where it seems like hell has frozen over; would you spit in my face? I guess we will find out; push your hand towards mine and I will see the look upon your face. Be it ice or fire I will love you without end; I will always be here for you but I can not lie for you forever. Oh what to do? When you have some type of pain everyday in your mind; a constant tragic life were magic becomes your night. To have and hold a solid foundation just to let it fall into a puzzle of problems on your desk of questions not yet answered it never seems to put it's self together. You are always missing a piece and if you