with a fellow who wore one glove.
Most of my life I'd seen him around
and had enjoyed his certain sound.
I moved my dancing feet
to the rhythm of his special beat.
To me his life was tragic,
though many thought his life was magic.
Then, one day he was dead,
never to rise again from his bed.
News bulletins every day
announcing his death began to play.
View after view, from young to old,
he blazed new trails, never following a mold.
Masked children with their famous Dad
would now be feeling lonely and sad.
So much I did not know
as scene after scene began to flow.
The more I watched and heard
I realized his life had not been so absurd.
Words like weird, odd, freak strange and out of his mind,
erased giving, kind, generous, sensitive, thoughtful, one of a kind.
Described the King of Pop
who made it to the very top.
Hours before his demise
no longer hiding behind a disguise
he was on stage once more
and would do fifty shows galore!
He pranced, danced and sang,
the upcoming concert with greatness rang.
Instead of what was going to be
a black hearse and a casket is what we'd see.
A childhood he never had
as he grew into a man but never a lad.
His life was out there for all to see,
A prisoner in life and never free.
I listened to the words in his songs
where he tried to right so many wrongs.
His quiet manner of speaking
as if he'd lost something he was now seeking.
He retreated where he could hide,
yet, his talent could not be denied.
His moon walk turned a tide
as across the stage he did glide.
In his death, his talent shown bright,
to millions of fans for their delight.
Yes, the more I heard about this man
I found myself becoming a loyal fan.
I don't know when I fell in love
with this man in a sequined glove.
I fell in love with his kindness, his pain,
his innocence, his life so insane,
his special star, his music and him.
Michael Jackson in my heart will never dim.
E. Moscoso
July 7, 2009
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