Splashing water on his face from the sink, in the mirror he pulls up his hood,
His faceless reflection glares emotionless. For tonight he shall spill some blood.
'Where you going son'? 'Shurr'up mum am going out see ya later'
Slamming the door behind him, leaving tears on the face of his creator.
Fist to fist he greets his crew, 'you ready lad'? 'Of course, come on let's roll'
Swallowing any emotion he carries, as the mob walk up the road.
Chatting enthusiastically about tonight, for what they do will prove them proud
Still high on the proceedings of last Friday, as they enter 'hostile' ground.
Glaring eyes they hold in sync, as they carefully keep with the pace,
Secrets hidden miles within yet not forgotten, comfortably set behind a face.
Into the park full of teens no more than 15, looking round for the 'Scum'
It's his turn to fight for his territory, Rules? 'Aim, shoot ... Run.
'There he is' gets yelled and children scatter, running around the park,
Unbelievably this isn't early hours in the morning, nor is it even dark.
Racing after him the gun comes out, 'BANG', Now he is in for a shock.
Wrong target, an innocent 11 year old got hit, he races around the block.
Splashing water on his face from the sink, a child puts on his football trainers.
Excited about tonight's final match, for this night he has waited ages,
'Be careful when you're out son' 'Ok mum, I love you goodbye'
The proudness overcomes her for a moment, as she lets out a stifled cry.
Meeting his friends, they head for park, one yells I want tonight be played like your last,
The match begins the enthusiasm rushes, the child's heart beats excitedly fast.
As the team win the screams are loud, the child puts his top on his head.
Running round in circles, the time of his life until bang one shot and he's dead.
Splashing water on her face from the sink, in the mirror she puts on her black hat,
Clutching the trainers he once wore in his prime, a life now unnecessarily in tat.
Goodbye my boy, she throws in his top the one from that day, her sobs inconsolable.
Today's youth crime is real and happening and the verdict? Uncontrollable...
A poem created on the basis of Rhys Jones, who lived not far from my home. R,I.P
Wow. Honestly, I thought some of the rhymes were off, and the flow didn't fit throughout. But the way you wrote the poem, first from the view of the teen and then the boy. It really was an incredibly emotional poem. Using simple words, 'Bang' and the talk of the gangs, rather than complicated vocabulary and riddled lines meant that the full power and impact of the poem was blunt, and incredibly strong.
Amazing write, really excellent.