Jack The Ripper Returns Poem by Shaun Cronick

Beneath the streets of London,
There sleeps a nasty surprise.
Waiting patiently in the sewers,
For many their hidden demise.

A killer of most vile repute,
Who always left a bloody mess.
For now his time is served,
And once again is flesh.

For flesh is what he craves,
And his wrath women will again incur.
Taking such joy from his evil work,
A slaughterer nicknamed Jack the Ripper.

They never caught him long ago,
With his victims piling high.
And it will be the same today,
And many more will die.

This fury that builds inside him,
Of magnitude again to be seen.
Unleashed on what he deems diseased,
Victims throats slashed without a scream.

His cruel tools of his dark trade,
Are deadly blades that slice and dice.
He'll sometimes work for hours,
On those who shamelessly entice.

Any woman who walks Whitechapel at night,
Is where true deadly danger increases.
For this is Jack's old killing-ground,
Sick memories of cutting many to pieces.

And if you're slut or harlot,
Prostitute or whore.
You'll receive Jack's slashing blades,
For you he does abhor!

Copyright Shaun Cronick 2019.All Rights Reserved.