Wicked Little Monkey

The intensity of his chase had brought him his diamond, A chance to maybe silence the monkey on his shoulder. In feet first, thinking it would be like walking on the clouds, He knew in his heart and at this time he should have told her. Feeling all the lyrics of every song he’d heard, that ever moved him, Desperate to make himself understood and maybe understand himself Believing in something he felt would be the answer and maybe heal, Reaching for that need, wanting it to be real and at best everything. But the monkey whispers in his ear, and as always he is its puppet, The strings are pulled by something that appears to command. The chance of the merest glimpse of Shangri-La faded on his horizon, Alone, he misses with more longing than a never ending need. Playing over different scenario’s and stuck on a mountain of “why’s”, Head hung with a feeling of defeat that simply staggers him. In moments of rational, a thought for maybe “could have been”, Then slams the door on yesterday, and listens to his monkey once more. ©.L.Kelly