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.
They killed everything he knew, and he still believes.
You keep what you kill.
But you can’t kill the trashcan.