Poetry

Watching you leave

I stop, halt my tread upon the path.

Take a breath and look around.

I watch your back as you disappear ahead,

flying over the rock strewn path that tears at my ankles as I try to follow.

I know I can’t keep up,

I shouldn’t even be here trying to find you.

I was never meant to be here

but I saw you, wanted you, tried to follow.

 

A mistake that must be rectified

by painful choices and halted steps.

By stopping on the path, sitting down and breathing

while you fly ahead and out of sight.

I sit on the path and look around

at grey skies and rain that soak my skin.

The sun shines not upon the trespasser.

No blossom to sweeten the air, nor multi coloured butterflies alight upon my finger.

 

So where does this now rain soaked climber go?

Not onwards, for you are far away by now

with those whose rightful place is here upon your path.

There is no fabled crossroads, offering choices to the weary traveller.

Just this rocky path on which I trespass but can’t continue.

I could descend, retrace my steps and hope to find a turn.

A rutted lane, overgrown and mouldy, but nonetheless my own.

For now I will just sit and feel the rain and watch the grey.

I wanted this path, just this one, and am not yet ready to find another.

I must sit and ponder what was lost, no, never even caught, just chased.

I watch your back, you that was never meant for me, as you fly on out of sight.

Watching you leave without a backward glance, yet I cannot tear my eyes away.

Three in a world of one

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I am three.

In a world not made for me.

You are just one.

Each of you, just one person within yourself.

You know who you are, what you are, where you are from and where you are going.

I am three.

At one side is she who I try to leave behind.

At the other side is she I yearn to be.

In between, she who struggles to leave one behind but can’t, she who struggles to be the other but can’t.

Trapped between the two, held back by both and being nothing in herself.

A twisting turmoil mix of hate and yearning.

Trying to run away but at the same time chasing, never catching.

There is no me, I have no name and no identity.

I know not who I am nor who I am supposed to be.

I only know that which I yearn to be, and that which I yearn not to be.

Like two old friends who have outstayed their welcome

These two at my side shadow my every move, thought and dream.

It is they who decide what I achieve, not I

And they who steer my course.

To be just one, like you, must be strange and yet serene.

To be secure in who you are, to know yourself and like who you are.

I am three, in a world of ones.

An alien abroad.

Two Worlds

Two Worlds

by Merita King – copyright March 2013 all rights reserved

 

I cannot be, what you want me to be.

My soul is on a different path

And takes me away from fulfilling your desires.

I have to stand and watch you fade further away

Whilst I remain, alone in the bitter wind.

So long I’ve yearned for that which is denied me

And oceans of tears cannot change what has been written

In the dusty tomes of destiny.

When I look into your eyes I see an emptiness.

An emptiness I wish that I could fill.

My heart is heavy as I see you turn your back

And seek that missing piece elsewhere.

So many oceans seperate us.

Not only the icy roiling blue in which I long to drown.

I am not of your world of lights, smiles and opportunity.

You come from the land of the beautiful people

And I am not one of them.

I cannot live in your world

And your beauty would be tainted, sullied

From the foul touch of mine.

Your world is brightened by your presence within it

Whilst mine is greyer still than ever

With your absence from it.

I do not have the key to your world.

The world where beauty and perfection

Are the life blood of existence.

I was not blessed with beauty

When I came to serve my term.

That simple act of denial

Sentenced me to a punishment beyond imagining.

To watch you from afar, to love you, need you

Yet know that I can never know the joy

Of looking into your smiling eyes

And knowing your love in return.

Enjoy the bounty your beauty brings

For even that will pass one day for you.

But in the land of the beautiful people

You will always be loved

And I will always be invisible.

When the dust of time is blown from my tomb

And the name weathered from my stone.

I will walk the hinterland with sorrow for what was never to be

Yet hope that in another life

Our souls will touch, blend, be one.

It’s enough to make me give up writing

Sitting drinking truck loads of coffee while the cupboards are bare and the heating is off and the purse is empty.
Hoping beyond hope for a sale while watching those around me yelling their joy to the world at the wonderful new book they just bought that cost them 5 times as much as mine.
Foreign holidays to plan, new homes to buy, iphones to subscribe to and satellite telly.
Dinner at the Ivy, lunch at the local and nights at that new club in the High Street.
Gotta get that latest Kindle, y’know the one with all the gadgets?
And just look at those shoes baby, yes I know I have 40 pairs already but they’re shoes.
Let’s pop into Starbucks and try that new vanilla coffee toffee thing with a swirl of artificial cream on top and little choccy bits and screw the $4.50 price tag.

Oh I can’t afford to buy books right now dear, times are hard y’know.
Except of course that new one that’s almost but not quite but really is quite porno, we must have that.
And the sequal, and the sequal’s sequal too.
You wrote a book? Wow that’s great, well done. Is is free cos I can’t afford to buy books right now, times are hard y’know.
Oh look, that floppy green thing will go lovely for our trip to Jamaica

Furyan Aria – the truth behind the shining eyes of Richard B Riddick

FURYAN ARIA – the truth behind the shining eyes of Richard B Riddick

by Merita King

copyright Merita King September 2012

All rights reserved.

Alone I stand here surrounded by fear and hate.
Hunted across worlds by those seeking their pound of flesh
for what it will bring them in the market place.
There is no peace, no sanctuary to be found.
Left to die, a baby’s cry unheeded by the strong
as they fill trashcan after trashcan.
Monsters hold no fear for him, Claws, teeth, animal instincts, hunt or be hunted,
these he understands.
The last of his kind, the omega of a nation.
Climbed from the trashcan, unwound the cord.
Relentless retreat, running, always running
but that trashcan is always there.
Climb out of the trashcan and still believe.

Don’t get too close, you don’t know me, can never know me.
Always behind a wall, peeping out.
Kill, walk away and save yourself, no one will blame you.
But they blame you anyway and hunt, always hunt.
So run, run and hide behind that wall of stoicism
for they’ll never understand you anyway.
Gonna miss the party, c’mon.
But don’t you cry for me, not for me.
They killed everything he knew,everyone he pretended not to love.
Down in the dark, he sees clearly what must be done.
Take a life? Sure. Take that life? No.
Run, hunt or be hunted, always on the move.
A killer? A convict? A saviour?
Always the chase, the thrill of the chase across worlds.
Your brain shuts down in cryo sleep
But he’s still awake, awake in the trashcan.
Does he still believe?
Started out with a cord around his neck and still believes.
Fought for his life in the dark, but always saw it clear
when others were blind and stumbling.
Still believes.
They killed everything he knew, and he still believes.
You keep what you kill.
But you can’t kill the trashcan.