I KNEW THE FACE

On Sunday I opened my paper
And I looked right at the front page
A story about teenage children
Whose life had been cut short before their age.

Some of them were victims of murder
Shot down or stabbed by another gang
Most just standing on a corner
Gunned down by the bullets as they rang.

Others were killed in car accidents
That were caused by drugs and alcohol
Driving blind by immortality
To numb to know they would take a fall.

There were a few who died from illness
Struck down by some kind of disease
It was like they were the lucky ones 
Those who death had chosen naturally.

The saddest stories were suicides
These tender minds had given up hope
They shot up their dreams with the needle
And submitted their minds to the dope.

On Sunday I opened my paper
And saw a very familiar face
The mother of a teenage daughter
I knew as her grief jumped off the page.