Baker Street

by alice indigo opal

Because no one that strolls down Baker Street (no matter the state they begin in) will reach the end unchanged. But the question is: is it for the better or for the worse? You tell me. A short no-rhythm, no-metre free verse poem conveying the darkness and mystery that shrouds Baker Street and its inhabitants. Make of it what you will.

A/N: Don't take this too seriously.

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If you stroll down Baker Street,

—Even merrily so—

No doubt,

You will reach the end disturbed.

—Lost and alone.

.

If you stroll down Baker Street,

—Even carefully so—

No doubt,

You will be tossed side to side.

—Haphazardly.

.

If you stroll down Baker Street,

—Even blindly so—

No doubt,

You will see horrific sights.

—In gruesome colour.

.

If you stroll down Baker Street,

—Even deafly so—

No doubt,

You will hear snatches of woe and loss.

—Echoing despite the muffled silence.

.

Because

.

Baker Street

—The place at the end of the rainbow—

Has exploded before.

.

Baker Street

—The site of a drugs bust—

Is peaceful most days.

.

Because

.

On Baker Street

—Outside 221B—

A man in a black coat gets into a cab.

.

On Baker Street

—In the empty basement of a flat—

A lonely pair of trainers waits.

.

On Baker Street

—On the second floor—

London A to Z lies at the centre of a war zone.

.

Baker Street

—Where sweet Mrs. Hudson lives—

Is a lion's den.

.

If you stroll down Baker Street,

—Even companionably so—

No doubt,

You will become isolated in your thoughts.

—Alone.

.

If you

Stroll

D

O

W

N

Baker Street,

You know,

You feel,

You taste,

You hear,

You see

The disquiet,

Displeasure,

Discord,

Disintegration,

The pain

Of one man

And another.