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Perpetrator funeral
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In the church sanctuary
42. White male. Unmarried
The simple casket, pine and brass handles, there lays
As the mother and father watch in black, dark greys
The pews polished and clean
Ready for mourners, but attendance is lean

Very few friends or acquaintances come
Their thoughts and feelings of grieving mum
Sorrow and shame intermingle to make sand,
Although it is not up to them for him to be damned,

Cards, loves, wreaths of fresh flowers
Justice, not vengeance, they are all vowers
Tears and sound bites flow
All believing humanity must have reached at an all time low

Did you know him?
Yes, he was a great man. My best friend.
How many best friends can one man have?
Is there anything bad said of those who have died young, accidentally, or intentionally by the hand of another?

Phalanxes of the sorrowful line the block
Harder to sympathize than mock
Caught up in the media spotlight
Crying over the unknown dead seems so trite
The victim’s funerals are much different
Than those of the perpetrator.