The Ten Faces

You were ten, then.
You were ten young faces, all under seventeen.
Your ten young faces,
Came from ten different places,
Occupying ten separate spaces,
In that one white car.
On that cold Friday afternoon:
That one white car,
Took one single turn-
But way too fast, and way too far.

By the time my team arrived-
What had been your ten young faces, all under seventeen,
That had come from ten different places,
Occupying ten separate spaces,
In that one white car,
Had no life left to even hide.
For before my two brown eyes:
Seven of your ten young faces, had died.

After that cold Friday afternoon:
My two brown eyes,
Became darker in hue, and more defined.
I still saw clearly,
But had become, in a the strangest way:
Partially blind.
All I could see now,
With my two brown eyes,
Were your seven young faces, and the way that you died.

Those seven young faces, all under seventeen,
That had come from ten different places,
Occupying ten separate spaces,
In that one white car,
Still haunt my mind.
From that day forth, I am learning to be fine-
But the way I now see this world
Is much darker in hue, and more defined.