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Ylzm Aug 2019
tattoos, the mark of Cain
instinctively inducing revulsion
stirring a mix of fear and hate
and of contempt and pity

today a common mark of man
mistaking individuality for identity
abhorrence for affirmation of being
and grotesque debasement for beauty

the mark of exile, rejection, and wickedness
now of fellowship, freedom, and choice
embracing the perverse to shock as all children do
now permanently etched, defiant without understanding

perhaps it is fitting and timely now
for the world is going the way of Cain
the mark of man is yet another sign
manifesting openly for those given to see
Ylzm Jul 2019
a shell, a rock, valueless
token of exchange
Cain's creation, perhaps,
impelled by hunger and his mark

today a non attributable lie
a picture of true faith
- but the sword still stands -
speaks more truth than any word can

deeper its insidious roots grow
for the greater its seeming efficacy
displacing the currency of love
for my enemies love me as themselves

but the lie is true
gnawing from the inside out
from nations, to businesses, to people,
a soulless heartless ******* remains

by the sword you live, by the sword you die
Ylzm Jun 2019
Cain killed Abel, for Abel was favoured.
Losers need losers, for then nobody wins.
Rather a robber be king, and all be robbed.
The mark, a small price to despise the favoured.
Why Trump? Because *******! That’s why.
Bernadette Nov 2018
Oh how I knew
that I had too much to do

but instead of doing what needed to be done
I sat around and did none

too many things are on my brain
I almost feel like Cain

but instead of Abel being my brother
I am killing another

another me
a productive we

A me who could see the things to be done
but alas the current me had outrun.
I have an accounting midterm tomorrow so instead i'm writing poems
Bethan Roberts Aug 2018
Bright from the wine-dark womb the world
Is light itself, and the fingers of the newest covenant
Flower like petals.
She comes forth like a promise
Between legs that bore her;
Her cord has not yet been cut into the kiss of Cain,
And the secrets of her origin cling tight
To her flesh. Her chest heaves
Its first breath out of the blurry brightness,
******* in spirit from the dead air.
She holds for a surprised second,
Then throws back her rose-crowned head
And cries.
Dakota J Dawson Mar 2018
Hitting the vase
Emptying my angst

Unsolicited stranger

Not brave



I am better
Than this

I compare
The situation

To my past
Errands of old

Trusting my instinct

I decide to

I admittedly

Evil and vile
Thought or emotions


God's descent

With Abel
Hating Cain

Fall with me
Loving gypsy gold
Poetic T Dec 2017
Feathered motivations coated
                  within every layer of
     her distorted refection.

No one will taste the flavours of  
              her contorted thoughts,
everyone coated in delusions...
Hands tainted
by Crimson Stain

Even the Great Flood
can't wash this sin

Hell itself
cannot contain

Demons burn me
from within

Culled my brother
like I'm Cain.
07 August 2015

© Khayri R.R. Woulfe. All rights reserved.
Corvus Apr 2017
He watches; quiet, reflective.
No doubt he detected
The weight of my
Body-shaped shame.
My name similar to his,
Who now rots under sunlight,
Unabashed in his righteousness
To which I was blind.
I find myself here,
In a garden once perfect,
Now tainted with ******.
I heard the scratching,
Faint at first,
So I turned and saw him.
The raven watches;
Quiet, perceptive,
His gaze so effective.
His foot scratches the ground,
Making a sound that feels
Almost peaceful.
He unearths the freedom
That I need him to show me.
Just below me,
The earth is opening up.
I grab my brother's limp arm,
Drag him away
From the evidence of his harm.
Further away
From the judgment of God.
The raven approves;
He quietly nods.
Decided to take part in NaPoWriMo.
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