Gore Of The Gargoyle

A mysterious spree of murders surge in the East End of London, and Scotland Yard, sents a cunning sleuth, to unravel the mystery in 1898.

I
This unforgettable tale of such awful dread that I tell,
I can fathom with that gruesome pool of thick blood,
Within my head unfolding an unblest nightmare of hell, 
As those unbearable and unfeeling thoughts that flood.
II
Twenty years ago on this day, I struggl'd against an evil,
That threaten'd those worrisome Londoners with fright, 
A mighty wight that was quickly unleash'd by the devil,
And fed off the bones and skulls of the dead by night. 
III
I was a sleuth that had been sent by Scotland Yard then,
For I was at that time, a young upholding man of the law,
And this bold and upstanding lad amidst the witless men,
When the shady nightlife was full of curs heartless and raw.
IV
I stood alone in the cold chill of the garden in Hyde Park,
As I had begun to seek an underlying and meaningful hint,
Whilst I had delv'd for one wishful and forthcoming spark,
Amidst those brushing winds of the day that did not stint.
V
An unbridl'd and unfasten'd killing spree wield'd London,
And fourteen deaths were said to be at the hand of a killer,
Whose brath wrath had spread onto the streets of Hendon,
And had become forthwith, a woven and much fretful thriller.
VI
I was told by sundry witnesses, that the killer was seen nigh,
Within the grounds of the park and the boughs of the trees, 
And yet, I look'd upward at the clouds that were drifting high,
Whilst I had listen'd to the eerie buzz of those bumbling bees.
VII
I had walk'd toward the garden and saw a rather startling thing,
The likeness of a gargoyle made in stone and shap'd by hand,
But yet, I could see drops of dry blood on his upper right wing, 
And on his sharpen'd claws, there was this black hair strand.
VIII 
Howe'er queer it may have seem'd to me, I sought elsewhere,
For an inkling that would help me find this brash killer at last,
And soothe an uneasiness that the mean fiend was somewhere,
For his unstoppable grasp of death was always ghastly and fast.
IX
I had abid'd for the coming of the night as he was on the prowl,
And I had walk'd those busy streets of London from end to end,
Till I heard a scream coming from Hyde Park with a loud howl,
When I knew thereafter, where my shovelling feet had to wend. 
X
As I had oncame, I was dumbfound'd to see straightway,
The unbelievable seeming of a fearless gargoyle in flight,
As it had waylaid and grabb'd the woman taking her away, 
Fleeing into the depth of that thester and uncaring night. 
XI
At first, I was too flummox'd by what I had seen speedily,
And I had run after the gargoyle through the park madly,
Till I tir'd as the wight had glid'd into the winds so greedily,
And the unlucky and chosen woman had lost her life sadly.
XII
I durst not bewray to anyone about the dreadful gargoyle,
For I knew then, that no one would understand truthfully,
But I was sadden'd for the lov'd ones of the late Sally Doyle, 
Who had thol'd her unsightly death and loss too ruthfully. 
XIII
Upon that following e'entide, I went to Hyde Park anon,
As I thought of the hugger-mugger and gargoyle that flew,
For the falling rain had slowly drench'd the ground thereon,
Where I stood within the garden amidst the dripping dew.
XIV
And before me once again, was the gargoyle in hard stone,
As I felt the reddish beady eyes staring straight into mine,
When I had seen that the dry blood of yesterday was gone,
But through the downpour, glar'd a bad and unholy shine. 
XV
When I got closer, I had heard then a man behind me speak,
"Beware the lurking eyes of the night, as they easily beguile,
Those careless and selfish souls whose minds are truly weak,
Whose hearts and wonts were full of emptiness erstwhile."
XVI
I look'd hinterward at once, and I saw a willowy man near,
Standing there dress'd in all black, with a top hat and coat,
As I had star'd at his unmistakable grin that show'd no fear,
When I felt a strong lump clogging within my sore throat. 
XVII
"By Jove, you have startl'd me sir, who are you? I ask'd him,
"I am only the old reaper of the night, seeking that sinner,
Whose donsy soul had welk'd in the shades of e'ery whim,
Whence greed forsook the body, as it grew more thinner."
XVIII
I knew that the man that stood within the rain was shrewd,
"O no need for this rubbish, thuswise, I shall be downright, 
For manifold women within this world have call'd me lewd,
And I brook unwant'dly, scornful words with my foresight."
XIX
"Who are you then sir?" I ask'd him as I heard the thunder,
"O what is more rousing to me, is that I know who thou art, 
A cunning sleuth sent by Scotland Yard, I do not blunder,
And that I meantersay, my witting man, is only the start."
XX
With all those deaths that were betiding in London then, 
I had heed'd what my thoughts told me to do at that time,
As I pull'd out my gun I said, "You are the killer since when? 
"Since when?" He said, as I saw his lofty shoes full of grime.
XXI
"For I am not the killer of London, for 'tis my belov'd thrall."
I look'd behind me, and saw the stone gargoyle become alive,
Seeking to grab me in a clutch of its claws that made me fall,
When I had fought wildly, the wight with my strength blive.
XXII
I felt its astonishing main in its cumbrous claws and grasp,
As it had begun to fly away onto the darkness of the night,
And I felt my body squeezing afterward, as I start'd to gasp,
When I took my knife from inside stabbing him in the fight.
XXIII
I had felt his choking grip on me loosening around my neck,
And I heard his fluttering wings flap back and forth upwardly,
Leaving behind only, the fresh blood I had bled as a speck,
As the gargoyle glid'd beyond me in the night downwardly. 
XXIV
Gone was the foul gargoyle, and the devilish willowy man,
But before he left he warn'd me,"We shall meet again sleuth,
For I have time to gather all the souls of the world men ban,
That my wise and worthy sleuth, is indeed, the bare truth!"
XXV
Thus, I tarry here for that haunting day to befall forthright,
As I know, the gore of the gargoyle will beseem again soon,
When I shiver to think of that seeming at the next midnight,
Flying above the lively streets of England beside the moon.