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.
Copyright ©
Daniel Henry Rodgers
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