Except for me, God only knows the truth which here I tell.
(And if I lie may lightning strike me! I'll see you all in hell!)
In Scotland Yard there is a shred of damning evidence:
A silken handkerchief clean and white, and certainly a gent's.
And stitched into a single corner a monogram appears,
A well-embroidered S and H. It's been there all these years.
In Scotland Yard remains the clue that honest Truth supplied;
And Jack the Ripper was Sherlock Holmes, Sherlock Holmes's Hyde.
And as I stood
Clothed in my shame
The monster I'd created
The most difficult part
Was turning to the mirror
Looking into my eyes
There was no Jekyll
There was no Hyde
There was just me
There are so many things I would change/cannibalize from this poem (and I will eventually), but this is the first poem I have recorded that I wrote about the refusal of the Jekyll/Hyde stereotype.
-------"I wear the chain I forged in life," replied the Ghost. "I made it link by link, and yard by yard; I girded it on of my own free will, and of my own free will I wore it."--------
I fear you
Hyde hiding in plain sight
Jekyll murdered by his creation
Gone the way of the monster
Victor's supposed victory
The Jekyll and Hyde/monster archetype shows up a decent amount in some earlier poems of mine, but I don't agree with it anymore. I think it is easier to believe in some kind of hidden, dualistic, "evil" that forces my hand in situations. I simply don't feel like this anymore.
I'm sorry for living like Jekyll and Hyde
One life at church and another outside
I'm sorry for not loving and trusting you like I should
I'm sorry for the times when I've caused pain and not good
I'm sorry for when I choose wrong over right
I'm sorry when I choose darkness over light
I'm sorry Lord for the things I've done
I'm sorry Lord that I hurt your son
Today I am gonna visit my buried memories.
Not in a graveyard, no...
Mine are concealed deeper,
So deep that I have to get *****
I admit, it frightens me.
Dig, dive, fly, swim.
There is my lost elder companion.
Reminders of my past.
Kept in a safe made out of hard wood.
'searching in a dusty pocket'
But I need a key.
Maybe I lost it.
Sigh of relief streams out of my lungs.
Maybe next time.
The rain pours,
As my heart sours.
My tears fall,
While you call.
I love you,
But I hate you.
You cause me pain,
But to try to get away is vain.
From you I hide,
As your my Jekyll and Hyde
I buried my shadow in a concrete grave
He came back to haunt me
I could not deal with the dark of night
But all of my light hid in the gloom
so my shadow re-entered the room
All the things I buried with him began to show
The blackest of times
So with him I entered a truce
That I would acknowledge him
But I said to him I'd never let him wholly loose...
Slither within my spine
Wither, within my mind
Doctor Jekyll, Mr. Hyde
One coin, two sides