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.