You cry for the wrong reasons.

The treatise you worked on

Failed from the start.

You shed a tear for the tulp

And backed away.

 

Sudden, as if by accident

You left at night

In a sulk of stars.

The apocalypse

Of your written words

Fell as melting leaves

Outside my door.

 

The knocking of goodbye

With no way to answer.

A hatred of many forms.

Built up and rotting.

 

I was never afraid of your anger.

It made you real

But you cry for the wrong reasons.

Have you finished the treatise?

Did it bring you the end

You always wanted?