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.