The Death of a Youngster


I work in an environment where I witness children in awful situations, due to making horrible life decisions. Kids picking up instruments of death to take another’s life is a thing that shouldn’t exist in our world, but around the United States kids are using gun violence to kill each other. It seems life means nothing to some of our youth. I don’t understand how children play with something that once it’s gone it doesn’t come back. Once a soul is removed from a body there is no game reset button. Death is a finite task master. It takes and leaves nothing but grief in the void. About a month and a half ago I wrote the following poem about how murder destroys not just the life of the deceased but also the life of the perpetrator.  Please read and comment as  you see fit. I welcome feed back on my work. I write to hopefully effect change in our sometimes dark world.


I gazed into a young murderer’s eyes

I thought I would see soulless holes

Instead I saw hopelessness

I wondered what he thought

When another’s life was destroyed at his hand

As life drained from the holes

Young blood flowing into the cracks of the pavement

Fledgling existence cut short in a burst of violence

Anger fueled his trigger finger

As he became a bringer of death

He bore the sickle and wore the dark cloak

He watched with a coward’s stare as blood soaked his young victim’s coat

He became just as dead as his casualty on that murky night

His being destined to be drained in a four by nine cell

Condemned to cinder block hell

His youth is extinguished just like the life he stole

Two lives ended in a flash of cold

Icy retribution for misguided lives

Now both intertwined in death

One dead

The other condemned to walk the grave of the prison yard

It’s over for both

No coming back from that.