Maurice Rowlands


Ghosts Of Whitechapel - Poem by Maurice Rowlands

Little did Polly know
That her drunken soul was dancing along
Through the streets of London without a song
Where the darkest of shadows and ghosts belong
Into the Autumn of Terror
Beyond the church and towards the blade
Through a stained glass window in a candlelit nave
A figure on a cross where the Christians pray
Turned his head and looked away
To unsee ol' Jack The Ripper

Little did Annie know
That the knife in the darkness would slice her throat
In days gone by she'd be thrown in the moat
But here in the gutter she'll remain as a ghost
Haunting the Autumn of Terror
Down a lonely dark alley on Hanbury Street
A gruesome quick end she too would meet
A shadow of evil that gave no retreat
To vanish in the night on silent feet
The escape of ol' Jack The Ripper

Little did Elizabeth know
That the man in the cloak himself would suit
The dark paths walked by a prostitute
Where the London fog her screams would mute
In the silent Autumn of Terror
The years will roll by and the Thames will still flow
Whitechapel '88 was no place you should go
Where the life of a hooker was so full of woe
We search for the answers but we'll never quite know
The identity of ol' Jack The Ripper

Topic(s) of this poem: murder


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Poem Submitted: Wednesday, March 4, 2015

Poem Edited: Wednesday, March 4, 2015


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