Clueless
From beyond the grave, I scoff
I've earned my place in history.
Such wicked deeds I carried off,
Yet still remain a mystery.
My hunting grounds were alleyways
Where I spent productive nights,
Plying my trade, my art, my skills,
Murder, and it's dark delights.
Never were you close to me,
Not a sign nor track.
You had no clue who I was,
So you all just called me Jack.
Copyright © Gary Smith | Year Posted 2017
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