29 November 2009


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;
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


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
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,

Written by: Ricky Mitchell
In Remembrance of Michael Jackson