The Headless Poet of Mirror Street

Traipsing past the grey monument,
Where our humble tale bears residence,
Mr. Baker’s kid doth whistle a tune,
The last tune he would ever whistle;
‘Twas not death that did greet him, but silence,
For the sight that his eyes witnessed,
Petrified his being and he ran, like a hunted foal
To his home, to his mother,
Never to turn to Mirror Street again.
The sight he saw, he could not tell,
Hence lay the mystery of Mirror Street,
And ‘cause Mr. Baker’s kid doth not tell, so
Our tale we take to Mirror Street.
 
In the dimming hours of the breaking day,
Shuffling past the windowpane,
A walk embodied by stupor, a figure
Strolled about the room; Tall and slender,
A poet thought of verses, as his quill,
Bathed in ink scratched incessantly.
A lone mirror in his room stood-
“Thou piece of glass, what is it
Thou be good at? Show me myself?
Certainly you do. Adios dear friend.”
Thus a strange conversation ensued,
Poetry grew strange too.
 
 
            —–*—–*—–*—–
 
Ere the damn stroke of midnight,
Our tale doth resume in earnest.
Garbed in cold sheathing woolens
A lady walked the dreaded Street,
Glazing in the pompous moonlight,
Shadow amused the moon,
The grey monument shone afar,
Seemeth white to us, it stood.
Now here I take a drop of ale
And let the poet’s quill tell the tale-
“Twas the howling of curs ungrateful,
Amidst companionship tailor-made, that ravished
Silence precious to night and predator,
Then entered envious Rain with clouds dark
Into the once star-studded night; light was no more,
Shadow and its caster were one.
Brandished blade by his side,
And senses strong and Care in chains,
Predator shadowed prey; For a second, she turned,
But Rain envied her, blessed him, for in the lashings,
Her heart’s fear remained in doubt, ’twas a hunting night.
Exhilaration and mirth upon the face,
Sinister grin to accompany the tale,
A flash of steel and touch upon the flesh,
Rain did wash the sins of the prey,
And an utter scream silenced the curs.”
-Indeed an utter scream they heard,
Then followed the silence uncanny,
Except the incessant scratching of the poet’s quill,
Damn words that bore truth.
 
            —–*—–*—–*——
 
When it all began, a terrified kid we knew of,
Ghastly, unearthly was the sight he saw perchance,
A headless man he hath witnessed,
The curse of Mirror Street now doth be upon him.
Twenty years afore, grey was white,
Unmarred by the strife of life,
Tarnished not by greed or vengeance,
An artist’s house twas known to be,
The headless poet was bothered slight,
Mirror Street to darkness wasn’t delivered yet.
On those stony streets that shone
And his white monument glowed,
So chanced on a fair day,
Under the afternoon rays of glorious Apollo,
A certain dealer doth exchange
Spark upon spark; Sharp words and sharp tongues
Doth collide upon stone upon stone; a raucous uproar.
Mr. Baker, the local dealer, quibbled with the poet,
Over a parchment prized, framed in flamboyant silver.
“Hours aplenty gone by, I toiled a fortnight,
On no damned day shall thou
Mock time well spent in art;
For bear not the words shall a poet of
A gypsy vile and vain who makes
Jest of time devoted to art.” – said the poet.
“So you say, master bard, you work be honored?
To losses thou hast sunk me into, thy prior works
Infested with algae do rot, none sold and you ask more?
Here my thoughts to your art with mine spit.”
With that Mr. Baker did spit upon the poet’s pride,
And thus sparked Fury’s flame; the work lay shattered,
Shards glistening with rage unfathomed,
Prized parchment bid salute to sun and rain.
Baker with egotism glowed while the
Poet shattered but furious stood,
The shards of the frame cast a spotlight,
On the accursed tale on the accursed Street.
“I curse thee,”- whispered the bard,
“None of ye Baker shall speak my name,
Or the Reaper with sharpened scythe
Shall visit thy home and you.”
A flurry of the cloak, the poet was gone,
The curse spat in Hell’s hatred lived on.
So, Mr. Baker’s kid we spoke of,
For days he uttered not a word, mortified he lay,
As one day he spoke, a cold breath – “Headless, Mirror Street.”
And such were the last words he said.
 
            —–*—–*—–*—–
 
To the knolling of the funeral bells,
Over the wet soil, Mr. Baker let his tears
Stride down the ashened face,
And swore vengeance.
Four days long he schemed until,
One night next to his wife he lay,
Made love and his purpose he said,
The curse lay tis true, but Baker had planned it through,
Twisted were his words as he told Mrs. Baker-
“There lives a man both vile and wild,
A sweet and honorable host,
He lives by his talent and his quill,
A despicable and cunning ghost.
Though you may admire his work,
And stare upon his artful ruins,
On Mirror Street thou shall find horror,
And thus, the curse of the headless poet.”
-With that he breathed his last.
 
Alarmed though she was, Mrs. Baker set on the quest,
To seek and unravel the Mystery of the wicked Street.
 
Under the dim light of the crescent moon,
She stood facing the grey monument,
As the cur howled to woo the moon,
Baker entered the house bound to hell.
Crept slowly up the stairs, the adventurer
Entered the sinister room,
Where the quill composed a deceit, a murder,
The poet lay in slumber sans his head,
The room where tales bore truth,
And evil had a face; for Baker succumbed nearly to shock
At the sight that bade a smiling greeting,
On the mirror on the wall was a face,
‘Twas none other than the poet in grace!
Word upon word the poet did narrate,
And his master’s words the quill did obey.
Madness! Utter madness!  Mrs. Baker shrieked,
Like a trapped bull in a pen,
Like a monster trapped in a den,
She moved and with a flash she crushed
The speaking mirror to the ground.
Night was eerie no more,
The poet asleep no more,
Through the shards his voice did echo-
“Death! Death!” The quill obeyed,
But ere it could spell the name,
Baker cast it into doom’s flame,
The quill lay smoldered upon wood and coal.
To his knees he sunk, lifeless he fell,
As the quill burned its last,
The face on the mirror faded,
And the poet was no more,
The curse of Mirror Street was no more.
 
            —-@——@——@—-