Monkey King 1
- Monkey King
by George "Papa" G.
Listen well my children to the story
I will tell from across the sea, a place
beyond time and space.
A guest to Gods and warriors alike,
I was asked to write.
Upon a mountain of stone and moss,
I awoke amid the flowers blooming fair,
and next to a flowing, cascading, fountain, alone and scared.
Seemed it was spring, but time eluded me.
I sat on a chair, an egg shaped rock, and sang
of heaven's grace, and what was to be.
As if in an old epic rhyme lost in time,
the clouds rolled in from the west,
fast, almost Zen like, as they floated gently as a fog to my bare feet.
Then in shock, stressed, I realized there was a man standing there.
But, no, not a man, a beast; a monkey. A jest? A test?
Long hair, brown and curly.
Tall as me, but chunky and thick around the middle.
Confined by fur, his face was bare but kind,
keen eyes of flaming green spoke to all he had seen.
All in all a mellow fellow.
With teeth purely white he smiled and said hi.
The Monkey King, I asked? What a way to meet,
to greet this elite soul from the tales of my youth.
His boundless laughter was spunky and loud, if but a bit funky.
Enthralled I laughed too.
He called me a poet and a sage, as he spun me around,
happy and proud that I knew him at all.
He danced a jig, the best jig I had ever seen I might say,
around a ring of poseys, blue and yellow, that covered the ground.
He played, I prayed, until he asked me to stay
and plan a crusade, then his spirit seemed to fade;
for a moment he seemed depressed and afraid,
so I said I felt blessed and would honor his request.
Along side a holy fire burning bright, with tea and cakes
he sang of his desires, his mistakes, and his new quest, to once again
invade hell, and face the horror that is the soul conqueror;
the emperor Jade. No matter the cost, what ever it takes.,
he will battle snakes and dragons;
lies and illusions that steals the souls of good men.
In sad soft melancholy whispers he attested
to feeling betrayed by the world; and that the emperor
once more ruled in the minds of those who never read
or think for themselves. Sheep asleep walking slowly
toward extinction and pain. His tears were real,
his pain I could feel was fresh, yet old as time.
Obsessed with saving the rest of our race,
He did suggest that I too played this game
defeating shame and gathering fame.
That Karma had weighed me. And needed
to be paid. Reeling, and in mock shock, I cried,
I smelled a trap. Your pride lied ole chap,
squealed my future guide, tied together are we
on this ride to what lays inside.
I denied. I defied. I lied!
A test then he said. Yell a spell at the shell in which you dwell;
Free yourself to be who you were born to be.
Well, he said impatiently, tell the cell, the chains,
that binds your spirit from flight, to fall away.
In a funk, as if drunk, I was shown what
beats within my breast.
Then when I had stopped weeping,
he laid not a blade but a pen at my feet.
The pen of that sweet, saintly monk, that hero
sage poet of my youth. This pen,
he swore, empowers you with powers
to write in digest what we shall see
and hear on the path to flying free.
armed and able to write, I felt
like me once more, ready for what was in store.
So with a single step our trek of a thousand life times began,
West towards the sea, the Monkey King and me.
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