Cain's Exile of Inherent Beingness

Mark The earth turns its face from you as if ashamed. You who tilled the soil, now marked by what the soil received. Your brother's blood— how it murmurs, how it screams. Deafness would be a mercy. Wanderer At Babel, you watch them build their tongues a discordance of hope. You know better. The tower falls. Always, things fall. In Athens, questions hang in the air like ripe fruit. You reach for one find your hand empty. Constantinople burns. You've seen this fire before in your own heart, in Abel's eyes. Love Her laughter—sunlight on water. For a moment, you forget remembering the weight of your name. Time, that relentless thief, steals her breath, leaving you with pockets full of silence, her absence echoing in your eternal night. Witness Verdun. Mud and blood indistinguishable. You've carried this earth before, will carry it again. In Selma, voices rise. You join the chorus, unseen. Your story spoiled, yet written in every cry for justice, a testament to your own unending quest for peace. Grace The sea spilling secrets waves crashing against the shores of your soul. In a quiet cell, you contemplate forgiveness— that impossible shore. Your heart is a vessel of unspoken prayers. Each wave a reminder: the divine as elusive as your peace. Mortality She sees you—truly sees. Beyond the mark, the myth, to the man who carries centuries in his bones. You learn to love in moments, not millennia. Each breath a gift, each touch a benediction her presence a bridge to your humanity. Return The earth no longer rejects you. You lay down, finally into the arms of the brother you've carried all this time. Abel smiles. You close your eyes. The silence, at last, is sweet.