a poem written by
Maya Angelou for Michael Jackson
Beloveds, now we
know that we know nothing,
now that our bright and shining star
can slip away from our fingertips
like a puff of summer wind.
Without notice, our dear love can escape our doting embrace,
sing our songs among the stars and walk our dances across the
face of the moon.
In the instant that Michael is gone, we know nothing.
can tell time.
No oceans can rush our tides with the abrupt
absence of our treasure.
Though we are many, each of us is achingly alone, piercingly
Only when we confess our confusion can we remember
that he was a
gift to us and we did have him.
He came to us from the creator, trailing creativity in
Despite the anguish, his life was sheathed in mother love,
and he survived and did more than that.
He thrived with passion and compassion, humor and style.
him whether we know who he was or did not know, he was ours and
we were his.
We had him, beautiful, delighting our eyes.
His hat, aslant over his brow, and took a pose on his toes for
all of us.
And we laughed and stomped our feet for him.
We were enchanted with his passion because he held nothing.
gave us all he had been given.
Today in Tokyo, beneath the Eiffel Tower, in Ghana’s Black Star
in Johannesburg and Pittsburgh, in Birmingham, Alabama, and
we are missing Michael.
But we do know we had him, and we are the world.