Cory Monteith

My daughter asked me to write something that matters to her.

As it happens, this also matters to me.

Another child lost from life.

Thirty-one years is a babe.

Too young.

Too little.

Too late.

A face known to me by my children,

A voice, a smile, a song,

Talented, tormented and toppled,

Searching for far too long.

‘I’ve got the rest of my life to be a grown-up

And, for now, it’s ok to be young’,

Choices, drugs and pressure.

A life where the song has been sung