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Jack Ripton lived a quiet life,
west Kentucky, in rolling hills,
he’d been farming there for ten years,
all according to his own will.

He’d never been much for cities,
they did bad thing’s to a man’s mind,
some might love it, but he did not,
on his land some peace he could find.

He’d been this way back to his youth,
his father had worked land as well,
a hard job, yes, but quite honest,
the kind that kept the soul from Hell.

No sketchy deals, not dance with law,
just a product grown from the earth,
and people loved ‘organic’ food,
were willing to pay him his worth.

This simple life would have kept on,
until one night, age thirty-three,
a nightmare burst into his mind,
so vivid he could not unsee.

He saw himself in an alley,
stabbing a young man in the neck,
screaming, “You call the cps on me!”
leaving the youth a bleeding wreck.

He shook it off when he awoke,
dreams were always strange anyway,
and he had to feed the chickens,
so he got up, started his day.

Jack had forgotten about it,
a week passed like any other,
but then he dreamed he raped a girl,
a frightened, young single mother.

That one disturbed him a great deal,
how could it not? Who did such things?
Was this some Jekyll and Hyde deal,
his subconscious misbehaving?

This pattern kept up for some months,
every few days a dark dream came,
his friends said that he seemed depressed,
something was off, not quite the same.

He hesitated to tell them,
how could you explain such nightmares?
Drugs and killing, beatings and rape,
what brought on such scenes of despair?

At six months Jack felt quite desperate,
went to town, to a therapist,
he’d never been to one before,
but who else could help him with this?

He sat down with Dr. Mason,
a woman in her middle age,
she had degrees from some good schools,
could she help him? He couldn’t gauge.

The session didn’t go badly,
he told her of all his dark dreams,
she listened, tired to calm his nerves,
despite all these visions obscene.

Afterwards Jack felt more relaxed,
but did not believe he was cured,
from what she said it would take time,
some more sadness he might endure.

But when he went back there again
a new figure sat with Mason,
a graying man with soft grin,
Mason said, “This is Doctor Johns.

“I asked him to be here today,
he’s dealt with things like this before.”
Then strangely Mason shot upright,
and hurriedly went for the door...

CONTINUE IN PART II.
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