Fear the hollow steps that follow you close behind
turn not your head, and gaze upon an inevitable fate
walk a much faster step, as does your racing mind
fear, and know only well that what follows, is nothing other
than pure of hate
Keep well your distance, and while the stare begins to burn
look not to return your glance, though, temptation will demand
No, turn not your head; turn, and you might then never return
yes, flee from that climbing stare; yes, flee from the evil at hand
Fear that hollow stare that will follow you closely behind,
and turn not to its gaze, and remain suspicious of its dare
keep well the thought of peril; keep peril well placed in your mind
look not to exchange a glance with evil, and fall victim to his climbing stare
*I have been intrigued many years by the mystery and story that surrounds, Jack The Ripper.
He crept alone, silently, watching the fog pass in front of him. It seemed to wrap around him, as if the fog itself yearned to be a part of him, to be a symbiotic member. But the mist and fog that surrounded him was nothing. His mind and body were attuned to to the task at hand.
He exuded royal almost monarchical presence. From the long black cape that was tucked tightly around his neck, to the steel tipped boots that covered his feet. He was an amalgam of darkness and fear and light and noble. His presence constituted a awe that no person could avoid. His stature was elegant and macabre, all at the same time. Although there was no indication of his intentions, one would wonder if it were to save or to rape and plunder.
There were no emotion in his eyes. The coal blackness that spewed from his pupils was the presence of evil or determination. One could only wonder.
Would he hold a woman in his arms with the passionate love that seemed to burn in his being? Or would he hold her neck tightly in his hands? Would he hold a child, with the utter tenderness of a loving father, or would he discard it, unwanted and unloved? What kind of man was he? You would almost ask him, but to afraid to hear the power of his words as they exited from his vocal chords and pounded into your brain, echoing in your heart of hearts. He demanded fear, but asked for kindness and forgiveness. Like a killer bent over his victim, begging for his redemption with their last dying breath.
He was a man of the women. They seemed to gravitate to him, the attraction almost futile to resist. What was it that the women found in him, that they felt so comfortable around him, until the moment of realization. The realization that he wasn't what he claimed to be. That he was a much darker soul, and poisoned person, spewing forth the darkness and sulfur that burned what was once his compassion. But there was no compassion anymore. The weakness of his soul had eaten up all that he was until there was nothing left but a husk of hatred and malice.
This is what he was, and what he strived to be. A man of the women. A man that could have it all, and then take it away from her with a twist of his wrist. And the scarlet love that flowed from them to his feet, would be the psychological orgasm that he so desired. To watch the life drain out of their eyes. To watch with his wicked smile, the last moments of their life.
And he would turn, wiping the scarlet love, from his blade and disappear into the night, to do again what he could not stop himself from . . .
. . . loving
I have seen every program on the History and Discovery channels about Jack the Ripper. There is something fascinating about him. There is a retired Scotland Yard detective that has been trying to solve the case. I don't know if everything he says is the way it really was, but it does make sense.
Pup
I assume you've read, "Portrait of a Killer" - Jack the Ripper - Case Closed, by Patricia Cornwell.
If you haven't, it's a must read!!!
Several of her books are based on real crimes. She's presently in the process of lending her expertise and financial support to help scientists solve the mystery surrounding the loss of the Hunley Submarine, 142 years ago.
I believe she will solve it.
Check her out, if your not already a reader of her work.
Your poem is eerie, haunting and RIGHT UP MY ALLEY!!!!
Excellent!!! Thank You for this post!!
Peace...Solid