MY TROPICAL HORIZON

As i look unto the heavens and hope for its splendor to unleash its self onto my crown/Godly presence. I think of you;

My Tropical Horizon;

Years have passed and still i sit and watch the seasons change: winter, spring, summer, and fall; but still the theme remains;

My Tropical Horizon

Extended from the Northern hemisphere to the vernal equinox; the change of the weather doesn't seem to interfere with the solistic attributes of your multicolored pigmentation; for this reason you are a combination of the four seasons;

Color so clear filled with glare, you are the heaven i swear;

upon horizon the tropical high zone,

all i can think of is you as time spare;

Complexion mistaken for caramel, but through my eyes you are far more then what the naked eyes can tell; tall and slender within a vertical structure; your hair so elongated and spiral with radiance in spell;when touched by my fingertips my soul ignites with bliss;

ooooohhhhhh

I am hypnotized by the aroma of your very smell;

How can i forget your luscious voluptuous lips; so solft and wide; stretching from each tender facial side; only to bring for the manifestation of pearls of joy,

Let me not negate to mention those glorious hips that mold the movers and shakers of civilization;

Pondering in every way as the ancient of times is projected throughout every generation;

like the coils in a tornado that keeps the propensity of its mobility; you are the back bone of time; the history of mankind; and the reality and existence of what is divine

My Tropical Horizon

As your circle is clouded with whirlwinds of emotions; remember that while some are lacking the endurance, you clothe yourself from the droplets of rain,

and are still able to direct the courses of chain;

The gift to produce, cast and shape enables you to bring forth what is great;

Sunny rays; rainbow skies; birds flying and singing sweet lullabies;

truly you are Gods blessing to those who come across you; but for those who tries to destroy you will only achieve the rapture of despair

The mother of this planet called earth;

so proud you are to be for all that's worth;

Happy I am to be because you are my tropical beam;

Thank you for all that you have done for me;

My love, peace, and prosperity has been redeemed

Written by: Ricky Mitchell
Mitche230@yahoo.com

Copyright2008

THE MAN IN THE MIRROR

A man born into a world filled with inequality;

raised into a family of nine who were driven by the same agility;

with one agenda which was to become wealthy, financially;

he was able to arrest his preconceived dreams;

but unconsciously he sacrificed his youthful means;

Faced with a physiological complex that was exposed to him by his own;

he amended his pain through various surgical instruments and additives;

through years of commercialized exposure, he transformed himself into what he was told

to be the greatest of all beings

still without contentment, he devised a place where he would regain what he never had:

a childhood; however through scandals and painkilling agony his desperation was shattered and obliterated;

the boy that would never grow old was now struck with adulthood and a home that became a thriller in disguise and a nightmare in time;

As moments progressed he became more and more depressed;

however through his vocalistic sensational talent;

he was able to set his mind free through each melody;

music became his ventilation; dancing was his invigorating expression;

lost in it all, his spirit was embodied with poetic electrifying earthmoving inspiration;

Touching the hearts and soul of billions all over the world; he was like the axel of many;

the hummingbird of plenty; and the salvation of all those who accepted him as their

remedy;

with all his external glory he was still without his truthful joy;

a person who kept to himself, no one knew his happiness nor his pain;

feeling out of place but yet intertwined into a world that he knew not;

he physically altered his appearance in order to be one with a world he was forced into knowing;

At the age of fifty he is now a posthumous entity; known for his choreographical performance and his self mutilation;

what has become of his history; leaving behind three children and eight siblings he was the number seven; the leading singer, and the first to reach his death; why is it that the colour of his skin and the structure of his physique was so important then his performance and his contribution to this world;

As a man seek what he always wanted, a childhood;

but instead he is left knowing the confusion and pathology of what he hated the most,

hypocrisy.

Written by: Ricky Mitchell

Mitche230@yahoo.com

In Remembrance of Michael Jackson

Copyright2009