The Ripper   Leave a comment

by Elizabeth Huff


Look at the pretty girls all in a row;

selling their bodies, selling their souls.

He’ll pick one at random and they’ll retire.

She won’t be seen alive any longer.


No one can hear her cries or her tears.

No one will save her from her greatest fear.

She lies in the bedroom all covered in blood,

all that remains of this latest night’s work.


Stalking the shadows, avoiding the moonlight.

Wandering down the dark alleys at midnight.

No one can hear the pleas in the dark.

The cold wind blows the fear and the fog.


The dawn brings to light all the sins of the past.

Hell will call back its dark minion at last.

Though no grave be found for this haunting specter,

legend will remember him as Jack the Ripper.


Posted April 20, 2012 by Elizabeth Huff in General Writing, Poetry

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