Mr Jackal
Do not utter his
toxic name
Unless you
desire to burn like a flame.
Do not describe
the howling beast
To avoid
becoming his midnight feast.
This is the
maxim passed down from above
To warn
strangers, comrades and those you love.
Just I, someone
who is foolishly brave
Will speak the
truth that is awfully grave.
The lurid monster
I disclose to you
Is a vampire, a
ghoul, a fiend that grew
From bone,
violence, devil blood and the dark,
Wiping out the
helpless to make his mark.
The name they
give him is Mr Jackal,
Derived from the
sound of his loud cackle.
Now told, I
shall take my one last deep breath.
I have led
myself to a gruesome death.
The old and
young, the rich and poor all stare
When the creature
gallops into the square.
His talons for
hands and his horns for hair,
His jaws for
teeth and a tail in the air.
The white priest
chants a deliverance prayer,
But the demon is
far too strong to care.
Each of them
steadily becomes aware,
They should not
speak of this nightmare.
When he clutches
hold of his little prey,
They realise
that this is their final day.
He strikes, he
claws, he fights,
He grabs, he
twists, he bites.
He sucks the
poison out of their burnt flesh,
Then pounds,
hammers and bludgeons them to death.
He tramples upon
them like dirty mud,
Then leaves them
behind as a trail of blood.
The power of a
name can produce much fear,
Because I have
spoken, my end draws near.
But much time
has passed and I am still here.
Ferocious fiend,
why do you not appear?
Why have you not
shown your gruesome red face?
And battered and
bruised me with your warped mace?
Because I am ‘The
Very Dark Saint of All’.
As I am what you
call Mr Jackal.
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