On the corner the silhouette stood
Not uncommon in this neighbourhood
Pacing around, holding his phone
Agitated movements matched his moan

Then, raised voices from across the street
And the thud of swiftly moving feet
The silhouette runs but trips and falls
Voices become taunting jeers and calls

Some muffled speech, a flash of light
A piercing scream rings into the night
The thudding spreads out as they run away
People glance out in cautious dismay

A few leave houses to investigate
Curiosity making them obdurate
All want to be the first one there
Upon the lips of some, a prayer

Laying beneath a dim streetlight
His face a peculiar shade of white
And blossoming upon the breast of his clothes
A fully blooming English rose

The stem leading to a pool of blood
Spread from his thigh up to his hood
Another youth, another wasted life
Ended by the blade of a knife

In the early hours, a knock on a door
Grumbles and footsteps across laminate floor
Then anguished cries by a fireside
As a mother's informed that her son has died

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