I once had dreams of a foreign nature,
Awakening in London in the time of Jack,
Of East End alleyways and harlot haunts,
Of Artful Dodgers and dens for smack.
I’d creep my way along a line,
Many a sight would befall my eyes,
Tearful laments, mothers with babes,
Addicts of opium, ghouls in the shades.
But look above. Hark, the light!
The lights of lanterns, but none of stars,
A comfort it was to say the least,
In this bleak, black and fearful dark.
Upon entering a den,
The mood was changed,
Smoked were my senses,
Ached was my heart,
Depressing it was to see these men,
Beds of brimstone on which they lie,
Succumbed to temptation,
Ushered below,
A black hand beckons them to die.
All is grim,
Dickensian ‘gentleman’,
Samaritans in soul?
Trotting past dens, heads held high,
Indifference ahoy, aid runs thin,
Shrieks and screams, tears and a sigh.
I once had dreams of a foreign nature,
Awakening in London in the time of Jack,
Of East End alleyways and harlot haunts,
Of Artful Dodgers and dens for smack.
My least favourite poem out of the two I’ve written! x
