Deep in Whitechapel’s
back alley paradise
all rotting horse muck
and bedpan toss outs
Cobbles slick
with slime
rotted food
rain-soaked
mould-caked
He walked here
cloaked
daggered
seeking and stalking
darkness shrouded
secrets painted
by the dim glow
of barely lit
lamps
Catcalls whined
overhead
intimate windows
offering warm shelter
for the taking
Far more than rainclouds
calling him
to accept
such invitations
In these chambers
he did his worst work
or perhaps his best
Infamy assured
the first of the many
who followed
he carved
immoral
immortal
In punctuated darkness
he perseveres
memory
intrigue
curiosity
In the tumultuous night
this lantern swayed
painting secrets on the walls
From the prompt: “The lantern swayed, painting secrets on the walls.”
Leave me a prompt and I’ll write you a little something 🙂
