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the Rest of Cain

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  • the Rest of Cain

    The silence of the birds highlights MY silence.
    And in the trees the leaves pile on the branches, and the wind doesn't touch them.
    Little by little the color that had drained from the face of the day returns.
    The silence of the birds to be transformed.
    After, looking around, when the blood had already been spilled, and there's this realization. When you are brought back.
    The way we choose what we are by what we do. The same way we're brought down these winding paths, which lead either to Fate or to Destiny.
    After crouching over his dead brother, looking into his dull eyes...
    We know that Cain was not alone when he committed the act of Murder, and yet imagine how alone he felt afterwards. Regardless of whether there was any soul left on Earth.
    The silence of the forest impending.
    Imagine the places Cain would look, and how all his travels thus far had fated his soul to the endless wandering.
    Over the cracked Earth, an absence of song, of running horses, and the eternal voices rushing.
    The Eye of God watches him. The God which love bridles, the God which heard Abel's voice from inside of Him.
    Is there a point at which 'not knowing' is valid?-- Love, we make excuses to get lost, to break rules, to have our war.
    And when we get our way, we turn into something else. We would never have expected how far we could sink. We were used to reacting to Feeling; I became jealous, and misunderstood. A grudge grew between us.
    As brothers, the love of daylight coming through our eyes matched us, met us. We felt these things different than anyone else, we might not have understood perfectly, but we still were able to be grateful for what was.
    And we looked around, we weren't sure where it came from. From between us these shadows piled; they covered our lips, our hands, the soft place between our shoulders, they draped our form in this wet and dripping "Time".
    And we forged ahead against it.
    And now these things are as foreign as someone elses' memory. As the Eyes watch my move through eternity. Stained beyond tingeing, helpless in the darkness afterwards.
    What I did came back to life.
    The reality of death was engulfed, and in my hands I watched the disappearing world. I saw the suffering, and an excuse to look away.
    I took it. I took it without grace or second thought.
    And even while heated with the hatred of my own weakness, even while I dominated my brother and watched his blood leak from the wounds I inflicted. Even as I watched my life & his leaving (O the dread of being together again, feeling that again)... Even as I realized what I had done.
    I was tempted to kill. I had never known differently than what I'd done, and so I didn't know what to expect. Actually, I was 'expecting' some sort of solution to come. But now my brother's silence haunts me through the wind, and I can't believe I buried him.
    I deny what I am.
    I can't face the pain that I have caused this separation.
    And God watches me forever.
    As I understand Abel's blood which will not wash off my skin, and I try to remember the story of my Brother, and I feel the void where that love was.
    Others were also so inspired: After me, so many things followed. "Murderer" I was branded, as I wandered the eternal streets in a dazzling impenetrable darkness.
    I hide my eyes because I do not want to see it anyway.
    And now I watch as the streets grow, in the glowing moonlight, and I wonder about my brother like I never have before.
    I look down at the lit-up place where I expect the world to be, and I can imagine it looks back up to me. Does it have an answer for what is inside of me looking outwards?
    Is Love an answer if it leaves my heart and soul and lips cold; just a word?
    True love transforms the world.
    I see the shades of them crossing each other in the night, blended into a larger shadow cast across Time.
    I watch them moving in a line, inspired by what I've done. In the dark maelstrom of these souls, the glittering fish-hook, and the blood instead of skin. All that you can see are the places we've hidden, but I see through them, to that which hides.
    These are the murderers of Humanity, the Children unwished to be seen. To touch them is to feel pain (a pain you're not sure you can handle, even if it's your own)
    To choose to look deeper into the dull-shining eyes, and to bypass this animal part inside saying, "Too much"
    How do we process it? What we've done with our emotion is barely recorded, and yet graves are filled, and yet the day still comes, and yet the silence hurts.
    I can't deny God's watchful eye, nor that I find it so abhorrent when looking at me--deadened--from the others around.
    I don't deny what I've done, as I watch the sunsets without sense, as I disconnect from this.
    Feeling afraid, I wonder when I shall have my rest. I know deep inside the part of me without words shall finally speak; O I dread the thought!-- Such has my time been spent in my own mutation of "Ever after" while I watch what I have done transpire upon the Earth.
    Kingdoms rose, with more blood spilled, and I have never forgotten about Abel, nor what I did because I wished not to feel.
    I don't even remember 'why' I chose to kill. I have seen all the deaths at the hands of others like myself, and I have my blood running sickly, without any skin. As my eyes won't shut but can't open.
    I am still not sure what I've done!
    "Am I my brother's keeper?"-- the sounds carry through the wind.
    And I am not sure about my answer: I cannot deny there is a broken, empty space inside where he once was. And now it's just a memory of pain, and it was the last thing I ever did. I don't remember where I buried him, nor how long it's been.
    I remember the Feeling.
    I remember being disconnected from the world, and watching it shrink from inside, until I couldn't even bear to touch a living thing again. I further receded, and beyond pleasure I denied myself, I was brought to a cold sterile place.
    And I tried to belong. I tried to make sense of what I had done, and looking back, all I see are the pupils beyond Abel's shut eyes, and the dirt I threw over him. Buried in memory.
    Nothing I did matters.
    I can't change, I can't grow, and God watches me from above.

    Cain slew Abel, and there was an infecting silence which overcame the land. God hears that voice beyond the grave, which pains him just as much as it pained them both: Abel and Cain.
    The world, the brothers, separately realized. One with a voice, one with his silence. As they sleep in a twilight of separation, dreaming and not dreaming, seeing and not wishing to see. But the world, the lights, the cities that spread like spiderwebs, they won't be ignored.
    Abel was found... found by a God which never left his side, and never quit his faith.
    And Cain is lost.
    An example of what we've all done, of what we wish most to forget-- and in our day to day lives, there is so much of the same thing happening. And so his restless soul wanders. And so the beauty which bit still hungers. And the hidden meaning lingers. Like the blood that covers his fingers and eyes, and fills up his mouth.
    He can't die anymore, because he is the Killer. What he has done he did to himself. The world has ceased to wonder, and only knows through scabs.
    And so his restless soul wanders alone in that eternity. And we are left to dream the forbidden deeds of those who came before, and we are tasked with the question: What was truly done by my brother, and where will I find ... the rest of Cain?--
    Last edited by amenOra; 07-16-2019, 05:02 AM.

  • #2
    Thank you for your creativity. Two opposites are combined in me. I like birds singing and at the same time, I feel the silence. How is this possible?


    • amenOra
      amenOra commented
      Editing a comment
      Anything's possible inside I'm glad you could enjoy it, and thanks for stopping by and sharing...

  • #3
    ... and from wrath
    came the unlovely sin
    a pastoral sacrifice judged not good enough
    was a rush of blood for the proto-Vegan
    Last edited by Johntee; 08-16-2019, 07:30 AM.


    • #4
      So glad I had time today to get down the queue to this gem.

      Deep reflective poetry - a speciality of yours - which paints in waves the reverberation of choice. Expressed in relation to one, but relative to each and all.

      Lovely, and thought provoking.

      Thank you for writing, and sharing.