The Suspect
The suspect, looking like a clown,
Sat quietly in court.
His face was frozen in a frown;
He offered no retort.
Some victims’ relatives were there;
In anguish, they all glared.
The shooter, acting unaware,
Impassively just stared.
I wonder what’s inside his mind –
Accomplishment and pride?
Or does his memory rewind
And think of those who died?
Right now it’s still a mystery,
His motives tightly hidden;
But looking back at history,
Some flaunt what’s been forbidden.
We’ll never really understand
What makes this person tick;
But millions all across the land
Feel sorrowful and sick.
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