The Unanswered Caison

Perhaps it was the unanswered caisson
Clopping along in the darkness of rain;
My lingering shadow, a setting sun,
Shell shocked in a volley of tears and pain.

Perhaps it was a vase thrown through the air,
Shattering above me against your door;
Seeing the mark of blood streaking, running,
Hiding, beneath weeping willow I tore.

Perhaps it was the unanswered caisson
Clopping along in the darkness of rain;
Being taught to say, "Ma raison d'être,"
Aye, “Ma raison d'être est la méchanceté.”