The teenager who was sure that he could drive, Who said he'd keep them all alive. His last thought, a chilling scream of fright, As his vision is filled with yellow light. The only sound for miles to pass, Is the crunch of metal, the shatter of glass. The squeal of tires, it cuts like a knife, The screams of terror,

the crushing of life. An innocent child stands watching nearby. Wide-eyed, and frightened, she asks, "Why, Mommy, why?" Left behind is a pile of metal and blood. But metal doesn't bleed. Could it be mud? The child cries for herself, for the cut on her head. What happened to those people, are they sleeping or dead? She picks a white flower, staring at each petal, As she cries for herself, and the bleeding metal.

i made the image by messing with photoshop...

Gary Woodward