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Am I My Brothers Keeper Poem
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Triped,
that’s me standing
Set on all three,
like three sides to a story
The one leg, medial,
is key to fruitfulness
and who would not want to enter,
of the host to whom this step is given?
Is there another door,
one from which lushness sprang?
Triped,
that’s me planting life
The third has more than delight;
it is to fashion a brood for hope
I tread so soft with one leg in a bag;
this is while bliss-searching
These streets we trod, amid treachery,
can cause a life of grief
Triped,
my blueprint to walk as a man
Am I my brothers’ keeper?
Oh yes I am, but not while this triped stand
Copyright © Earle Brown | Year Posted 2011
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Am I My Brothers Keeper Poem
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In the land of Eden,
In the land of Nod.
I once was a man,
That had a plot.
The black eye derived from fratricide,
Reprised in time despite;
the denies of delight.
Fight or flight, Its just not right;
To take your brothers life for strife.
I'm enviable as I'm labeled in a fable.
I've killed my brother, by the name of Able.
I'm trying not to lie this time;
As I'm dying on the inside.
My God has sighed, as he asked me why;
Why have I felt so deprived?
Lied and beguiled by the deity in the sky;
Like I'm supposed to be reconciled,
At least awhile to defile a smile.
Subside in exile for being menial;
When I get denied a sign on trial.
By my offering a sacrifice,
From the land and greens I provide.
While my brother is venerated, with fire.
Makes me look like a degenerate, I'm crying;
On the inside, it seems I'm not good enough.
A misinterpreted touch, from up above.
I just want to be accepted with success;
But now i sit as a disappointment, and the only son left.
His blood is screaming from the ground,
As I laid his bloody body down.
Not a single soul is found,
The only sound around surrounds;
profoundly and astoundingly loud.
As god allows the sun to drown out,
The day is done and my brother's gone.
The only ones left, have each wronged god.
We make mistakes, then gravely pay;
Contemplating why they were made,
In the first place.
As we test fate, and play the game;
Restless days decide our face.
I've spilled my brothers blood for what;
A lust for what I wanted to become.
Now I'll never know his love or trust,
It must be tough to be a judge.
I just wish this could of been discussed,
Before I went and messed things up.
I gave an offering from land,
But now I carry a mark, a brand.
A reprimanded hand by a candid man,
Disdained and suffering for a life span.
The age of creation lies only in the mistakable,
As I've slain and disabled my stable brother Able.
Am I my brothers keeper,
Or am I deceitfully the reaper?
I carry a burden, from the very first murder.
Is it as absurd as words, or a tad further?
I'm sure I've been lured, but then why am i this hurt?
My yearns are burns never to be heard of,
Feasibly beset indirectly as a disease.
I'm freed unbound, regretfully on both knees;
Much like my parents, by an apple off of a tree.
I shall refrain and abstain from making a claim for gain.
Though I have slain, my name stays the same.
My Lord I've dismayed; I've bathed, still I'm tainted and stained.
My mark is my bane, forever I am Cain.
Copyright © Criss Tripp | Year Posted 2016