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

no matter how small the star; it still shines

Word count: 328 Views: 4 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...

"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. 11/18/’00

"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 ...