This Fourth we mourn the Jackson's Fifth.
It seems we've lost a priceless gift
that's left our nation stunned and shocked
as if the British won.
But lest we drown in tears and whys,
it's only right to recognize
that we are wrong to deify
a self-indulgent star.
Like Peter Pan he found his joy
in things he lost while still a boy.
Amusements, playmates, fantasies
were robbed by early fame.
Like Jesus Christ he's worshipped still
by those who cannot get their fill
of all that shrouds the mystery
of one mourned as divine.
Like Elvis, whose offspring he wed,
his kingly reign was ego-fed
and scandalized by what took place
when he was not on stage.
And like Liz Taylor whom he loved,
this one who only wore one glove
found ways to numb his chronic pain,
but sold his soul to pills.
So why do we insist to laud
this grownup-child whose ways were odd.
What does our strange behavior say
about our nation's soul?
Are we so star-struck that we bow
to moonwalk weirdos that allow
their fans to praise them like a god?
"Dear God, what rules our hearts?
Please help us recognize the whys
that call for sparklers in the skies.
It's all about our nation's birth,
not Michael Jackson's death."