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The somber tradition of weeping

I weep for the loss I'd never known

Until I looked into the void of your despair

There you were, neatly arranging your portrait of humanity

Every bias, every malign dispensation

Afforded the guilt hard pressed, shaken

But running over

time was not your enemy, for you knew

With each passing day, your revenge would be so bittersweet

I remember when you used to paint pictures with Bobby

Bobby does not bother you anymore, nor does anyone else for that matter

Winnowing, seething, now I know what he meant by

Weeping and gnashing of teeth

For your sorrow is incomplete

You do not keep records of anything

You give all the information away

There is no profit in denial

Do not deny yourself the pleasure of eating