Jack the Ripper walked the London streets,
it was prostitutes he’d hoped to meet,
Those alone, nowhere to go,
whose families left them all alone.

No hope for future, loving dreams,
he stole from women, with his gruesome schemes,
Eviscerated insides, organs drawn ~
wee hours past midnight to early dawn.

No one knows this killer’s din,
his battle cry, he thought he’d win.
Stalking dark and shadowed streets,
no one knew, no one could see

the psychopathic nature deep inside,
the one possessed would always hide.
Not a hint was in their view,
they knew not what he was about to do.

Did no one hear the screams in the night,
or were his victims silenced by evil’s fright?
Did no one care for the decaying flesh
found face down in the bloody mess?

His thrill was stealing women’s souls,
tried to fill his empty holes
pared through heart and tainted blood,
he terrorized a number of neighbourhoods.

What sadistic need did he have in mind?
Sane can’t consider what he’d hoped to find
when ripping flesh, and tearing seam,
stealing other people’s dreams.

An evil man, was he myth or truth?
His legacy never haunted youth.
A legacy borne of evil ways...
If you live by the fire, you die by its flame.

© Deborah L. Kelly