The Ripper
Michael
Bellinger lives and writes in upstate NY (no, no, not Rockland County,
really upstate, like outside Utica upstate!). He is no stranger to the
cold of a dark season. This poem conjures images of collective fear, of
violent mystery, of shadows and death. Much like the suggestion of the
title and the iconic jackal, the concepts of night and devil loom large
in our imaginations from the earliest of ages and nightmares are not
always outgrown. Let this poem be the talisman charm to protect you,
dear reader, from bad dreams of whatever kind might stalk you.
The Ripper
By Michael Bellinger
It's the time of the jackal
When the blood runs cold
The devil is calling
To take your soul
Mothers are crying
Daughters are hiding
He has no mercy
And he has no reason
But it won't be long
Til the night wind blows
Screams of the fallen
And the rustle of the jackal
Soon disappear
The Ripper
By Michael Bellinger
It's the time of the jackal
When the blood runs cold
The devil is calling
To take your soul
Mothers are crying
Daughters are hiding
He has no mercy
And he has no reason
But it won't be long
Til the night wind blows
Screams of the fallen
And the rustle of the jackal
Soon disappear
Posted by Annmarie at 11/18/2009 11:44 PM 
Categories: today's words
Tags: violence night jackal devil ripper death Michael Bellinger
Categories: today's words
Tags: violence night jackal devil ripper death Michael Bellinger
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