Imprint on the Sand of Time
–A Tribute to Michael Jackson
They said you danced like thunder cracked—
But your rhythm was more than blood and bone.
You moved through dimensions unseen,
Where silence whispered in dream-tones alone.
You were no man of mere flesh and fame,
But a vessel of light in a trembling frame.
From moonwalks born of stardust tides,
To screams that split the veil of lies.
Through seed retained, your power grew,
A current kept from the grasping few.
You held the seed — not for lust, but flame —
To sculpt your soul into immortal name.
You walked with angels behind the stage,
Spoke to the cosmos beyond the cage.
In shadows you wept, in crowds you died,
A lonely king the world deified.
You sang the sorrow of every race,
Dancing through pain with a porcelain face.
The white glove was not just art or show—
It was the hand that caught truth’s glow.
The world mistook your soul’s despair,
While demons danced in neon glare.
But you, alone, endured the cost
Of genius gained and childhood lost.
A soldier of sound, a monk of the muse,
You bled for songs the stars would use.
They mocked your grace and cursed your skin,
But still you broke the gates within.
You are not gone — you changed your form,
Returned to rhythm, to cosmic storm.
Now each beat echoes your secret sign:
You left your imprint on the sand of time.
Copyright © Chanda Katonga | Year Posted 2025
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