by pete marshall
The sound of heel on cobbled stone
that stalked the streets of yesteryear
as sewage flowed with soiled dreams
Jack would walk bereft of fear.
His mind was caged and wrought with grief
as pain destroyed his inner eye
and cancers crept and clawed his soul
A lovers voice that hushed goodbye.
A nothing moon that held no light
on darkened paths and brick red walls
and staggered coves would leave their slums
to rest in doors amongst the gloom.
No bells would ring in East End homes
as night would fester cold and smog
and as his heels clicked on the stones
the hooves of carriages on would trot.
And on this night he saw her there
as charm would ‘tice a drunken Lord
who’s sword was stiff between her thighs
whilst shillings lined her wayward hoard.
But in the dark on hidden streets
the stench that reared on soiled paths
Jack lay down his leather bag
and drew the tools that played their part.
And as the Lord would hasten thrusts
her teeth bit deep on glistened vein
and then the whites within her eyes
would roll as blood was left to drain.
And as he pulsed between her legs
she drank the life he clung on to
but from the shadows Jack would walk
and drive his stake so hard and true.
The night was filled with eerie screams
as Lord fell hard and wrestled free
he turned and fled beyond the street
as Jack knelt down on bended knee
and with his skill he’d cut & slash
to take a heart of hardened stone
that led a path to darkened graves
for him to walk once more alone.
originally published at One Stop Poetry on 2nd July 2010
Image courtesy of walraven @ flickr