A sound of pure terror
races through the emptyness of the area
bouncing off mute walls
denied by closed shutters
as crimson sparkles under flickering light
The sun burns in the sky
yet is unable to comfort those chilled by fear
his exploits have been documented once more
unmatched by any other
and cunning enough to swell a fox with pride
the streets were abound with
rumor and speculation
no one ever really knowing
the why? the when? the who?
the best were baffled, the worst only knew fear
More than a century has come and gone
since this figure painted White Chapel red
an unsolved mystery by definition
left that way
Maybe it was because his name was so common
Jack, if I'm not mistaken
© Copyright 2016 A Stranger. All rights reserved.
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