Was he really so young, innocent and sweet,
or merely naive, wounded….. incomplete?
If only we had known what was in his head,
Or often that he was in anothers bed.
It may never be known, how deep the pain,
Of loosing his brother, if that left him sane.
He couldn’t talk about that, much else too,
He had many secrets, lives that weren’t true.
People had cared; he had tried to be open,
The police wasn’t a place he found any hope in.
In the end a friend’s betrayal cost him dearly
His vulnerability meant he could cope…nearly.
Did he believe in fate or just simply surrender
Can that explain why he chose to go there?
What did he think or recall as they chased him
Or as he lay in a pool of his hearts blood, grim.
Another young life taken at the point of a gun.
Lives changed, but there was more pain to come.
There is remembrance, choices have been made
His memorial is that others will be less afraid.
For me there is guilt, waking dreams at night,
What could have been done to make it right?
My life has been changed out of all recognition
His life fostered within me a different ambition.
Like Sheppard before him and so many since,
Lives lost in circumstances that make us wince.
We need to remember, be there and listen.
Stand up, be counted, make this your mission.
© Vincent Creelan 2009