He was Jack;
he was that little known fact
bitterly grown to react backwards to an intact social setting,
and so in the ruins of old London he set his bedding.
I'm betting we're forgetting the Jack that Jack was
as the age of his passing decays under dust,
we mist rust the mettle that held that Jack together
when that jack turned this jack as his life was severed:
Springheel.
He knew the deal.
Be defeated, a ghost, or be corporeal,
and steal.
Pull life from chest
then fly off the edge of the earth to finish the rest
of his work.
He knew the deal.
He knew what he'd do,
he knew how it'd feel,
and in flights over city night so surreal,
no laughter would ever after be in his appeal.
Springheel.
To look twice is to die,
and I pry open eyes as I fly by.
Author notes
s p r i n g h e e l
A contest entry
- What does your username mean? by KnightOfTheRose.
700 points, ended September 6, 48 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Vengence or silence unjust?
Comments
-
There's a lot to this Jack - I like particularly the dream flights over city nights, and the final line had great impact.
Rereading, the mechanical nature of death as pictured is quite strange - 'the mettle that held that Jack together
when that jack turned this jack as his life was severed'
now I want to know what the rest of his work is, out on the edge of the world.
-
-
This is much more literal than it probably should be. It is quite actually a poem recap of a story about a ghost whom was made to kill men.
-
-
Contests are retarded. Seriously, read the one who won this one.
-
Ah, very nice. I really like the way you explained your username. Thank you for taking the time to enter. Great job on this and best of luck to you in my contest!
-Steve-
Adding your comment:
